


Appointment with Loki

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Tailor Ever, Bridezillas, Clothing Kink, Designing Dresses, Eating Peaches, F/M, Happy Ending, Loki is Gorgeous, Loki is a Designer, Loki/reader - Freeform, Lokis Fingers, Oral Sex, Silk - Freeform, Summer Love, Tailor Shop AU, Voice Kink, Weddings, fitting room sex, saying please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: In need of a dress for your cousins weddings, you end up in the fitting room of one Loki Laufeyson, dress designer to the high society. You are not prepared at all for the way he moves, the way his green eyes watch you, or the way he says "please" in that deep dark voice before he touches you.By the end of the first appointment, you have given into his charm.By the end of the second, you might be addicted to him.As the days go by, you spend more and more time in his arms, you fall farther and farther in love.But then summer ends and its time for you to go.But is your heart the only one broken, or have you destroyed Loki as well?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic started out as a 1000 word one shot because I would seriously let Loki/ Tom Hiddleston play dress up with me any day. But people liked it, so I wrote a little more, and then a little more and here we are!  
> My first Character/ Reader fic so I hope you guys like it!!!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @not-even-close-to-straight!

You don't really want to be here, spending all summer in your cousins posh summer house, having to attend all her fancy parties and mingle with her ridiculous sorority sisters.

No, you'd much rather be walking the boardwalk back home, sharing an ice cream cone with your best friend Mel and wearing the same pair of raggedy cut offs and tank top every day until they fall apart.

But Alyssa was getting married, and you _for some ridiculous reason_ are her maid of honor, and she has invited you to spend her bachelorette summer with her. Because when you are rich as she is, you need more than a bachelorette party.. no you need an _entire summer_ to party. So you had dragged yourself up the coast to Boston to the summer home on the beach, not excited for it, but unwilling to say no to your only cousin and really, oldest friend.

Sometimes you miss the days where both of your ran around in pigtails, thumbing your noses at boys, eating cotton candy until you were sick. Those were fun days, before she exploded into puberty quite suddenly and you were the freckle faced, flat chested girl she was ditching to make out with boys under the pier. And then all at once it seemed like you didn't know her at all.

You had to work, after all. Your side of the family wasn't the rich side, and while she had cotillions and sweet sixteen parties, you served soft serve to preteens. When she joined a sorority, you lived with your parents and took classes at night to make things work.

But this summer, this last summer before she got married to some legacy fraternity brother with _old money_ and the kind of jawline that should only exist in Harlequin novels, she had offered to pay for everything. New clothes, a little car to run around in, your books for your final semester so you didn't have to work. If only you would come up to the house and spend the summer with her like old times.

 _I feel like old times didn't require trips to a tailor to design dresses for dinner._ You think wearily, stepping out of the little sports car she had lent you. But it is hard to complain. Alyssa had swore up and down this tailor would turn you from a country bumpkin into the perfect girl all summer, and even though you were maybe _slightly_ offended, you couldn't say no.

So here you are. Standing anxiously on a raised little stage in front of entirely too many mirrors, in the private fitting room of the best designer on the east coast.

 _Well._ you think to yourself. _Too late to back out now. And if I don't have the perfect dress for Alyssas big first party I'll never live it down._

You sigh anxiously, glancing around the room, with its floor to ceiling mirrors on three walls and couches lining the fourth. I _s it right for a tailor to have such an intimate room for fittings?_ The lights seem a little dim, the soft music a little too jazzy to be professional.   


The cute little assistant-- _Darcy? Was that her name?_ had helped you change into a dark green silk robe, and left with your street clothes, assuring you that Mr Laufeyson would see you in just a few minutes.   


_Yeah, he might see a little too much of me_. You think uncomfortably. The robe only falls to mid thigh, and you hadn’t thought about wearing practical underwear today, no you were wearing that ridiculous push up bra Mel had insisted on buying for you, and the matching bottoms that were really barely bottoms at all.

“Ah, there you are darling. So sorry to keep you waiting.” You gulp audibly and stare at the reflection of the man walking up behind you.   
He is beautiful. All long limbs and shifting muscles beneath tight black dress pants and a white button up that wasn’t nearly buttoned up enough. Black hair that is just on this side of too long, and when he lifts his head to meet your eyes, you nearly melt staring into emerald green orbs.   


“You are looking for a gown, is that right?” He asks, and a tremor runs down your back. His voice is low and soft and maybe British? But do British guys sound like sex like this?  


God, _pull it together, dumbass. Voices don’t sound like sex_ . You scold yourself, and almost as if he hears your thought, his lips lift in a slow smile.   


“There’s no reason to be nervous.” He moves to stand in front of you, and he is _tall_ but up on the raised little stage, you are nearly eye level with him, and it is disconcerting, having him staring right into your eyes. “I am very good at what I do. We will create something perfect for you, something as lovely and delicate as you. Perhaps in green? This robe on you is simply….” long fingers trace the collar of the robe, tugging just enough to part the material, stopping right before he exposes your bra. “No.” He seems to make up his mind with a quick shake of his head. “Something in blue. A delicate crystal blue. Like the color of glaciers in the sun. But silk. Do you like the way silk feels on your skin, sweetheart?”   


_Sweetheart?_ You think, but you just nod dumbly, and he smiles again.

“Yes, silk. Soft, and _slick_ and smooth… raise your arms, love, let me get an accurate measure of you.”   


You raise your arms automatically, still stuck on the way he had said _slick_ , and he pulls a tape measure from around his neck, running it through his fingers slowly before reaching around you to slide it around your back.   
“So slender you are.” He murmurs, bringing the edges of the tape together, then tightening it over your breasts. “Just exquisite really. But you know this, don’t you?” He sounds amused, perhaps pleased and you take a quick breath in.

Those green orbs flick downward, the tape wrapping tighter around your chest until his knuckles are resting right against you. “Perfect size.” His tone drops into something darker and you bite your lips to keep from sighing. But he might have heard you, because he moves a little closer, his thumbs brushing over the curve of your breasts, and this time you absolutely _do moan_ , and he _absolutely_ hears it.   


_Son of a fucking---_ you close your eyes and curse yourself over and over, because he’s loosened the tape, pulled it away from your skin, backed off a step.   


“Arms down, please.” He says mildly and you drop your arms, unable to look at him, just so embarrassed you could die.   
But then–   


“Darling.” His voice is still that deep dark rumble and you force your eyes up to his.   


_Oh shit._

Those emerald eyes are blown wide, dilated to nearly black, and his shirt is definitely less buttoned than it was a moment ago.   


“Darling, I would love to touch you here.” He reaches out with one graceful hand, almost but not quite touching you, barely skating over the rise your breast, down your stomach and over the swell of your hips to rest on your ass. “Would you let me? Is that too terribly forward of me?”

“I think you already _are_ touching me.” You manage, then kick yourself mentally because honestly, you couldn’t have said something smoother?   


“Ah, then you must forgive me.” He steps up into the platform then, and you realize in surprise that he stands at least seven inches above you, and you are suddenly feeling… tiny. And that's not really something you've ever felt before.

No, next to Alyssa, with her petite perfect figure you have always felt _large._ Tall and gangly and awkward. Certainly not--

“You are so delicate, a woman like you should only be touched with reverence, and I so badly want to see....” he leans down, until his lips are almost to yours, and only every single scrap of your dignity keeps you from standing up on your toes to kiss him already. “I must apologize, kitten, it seems I cannot keep my hands from you. I simply cannot wait to hear that lovely little sound from you again. That soft little moan, from before, could you do that again for me? Perhaps if I touch you like–” his hands-- _Christ his hands are so big I wonder if--_ bring you against his hard body and it’s all you can do to keep your reaction to _just_ that little moan he seems to like, when really you want to scream and cheer because the whole hand-size -in -relation-to -everything-else is **SO TRUE** and you can _feel_ it and wonder if it would be rude to ask if you could _see it._

“Oh.” His eyes widen even more and you think for a moment you could drown in them. “That was lovely. Beautiful.” He whispers. “Shall we see if we can do that again. Perhaps louder this time? Perhaps a little longer?”   


“Do I have to stand the entire time?” You mumble and he has almost kissed you then, but leans back and laughs, an entirely delighted sound that makes your heart race even faster.  


“Of course not, my pet, we can retire to my back room. When a project keeps me overly late, I simply rest there. Entirely comfortable, I assure you. But first–” he finally brings your mouth to his in a long, slow kiss, and suddenly you are holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

He kisses the same way he speaks, smooth and slow, with his tongue tripping and curling with your own. _When did we start frenching?_ You wonder, but only for a second, because _oh_ then he has tilted your head just so, and the kiss becomes impossible to escape from, and you just try to follow the shape of his mouth and the twist of his tongue as he brings your body closer against his own.

It's the sudden press of his hips to yours, the sudden press of _him_ against your stomach that changes the moment. You break the kiss--entirely unwillingly-- because you absolutely _have_ to breathe to wrap your mind around _how big_ he is, and are relieved to see he is just as affected as you are.

“May I touch you here, right here?” He says breathlessly, and you nod without even looking, but you are not prepared for those long fingers to close around your neck, forcing your head to fall back, but _no_ forcing isn't the right word. Not even close to to describing how the gentle touch on your throat makes you want to bare yourself entirely to his gaze. No, _forced,_ isn't right, not when you lean back so naturally, your hair falling across your shoulders and his eyes flash at the...submission.

Yes, that's exactly the word for it.

“You are exquisite.” The words are nearly lost under the music still playing around you, and suddenly you are overly aware of _everything_ . How you are standing on this platform in front of so many mirrors, letting this complete stranger, this _designer or tailor or whatever he is_ , touch you, hold you, all while music is playing, and in the front room his assistant is probably wondering why the appointment is running long, and on the street people are going about their everyday lives. And none of them know how close you are to being _lost_ right here. Lost and perhaps taken, and you-- the overtly practical woman you pride yourself on being-- is finding it difficult to care.

So you sigh, and your body loosens, and you can see the exact second he realizes you have made up your mind to _give in._

“Exquisite.” He repeats, this time with _so much admiration_ threading his words and you can't help the blush on your skin. “Does all of you flush this perfect shade of pink?” He asks, and maybe you imagine the hoarseness, but maybe not.

“What do you mean?” You manage, just barely above a whisper.

“I mean to say--” he stops, hesitates, “Actually, first, could I ...touch you right here?” His fingers haven't left your throat, so you can hardly nod, can't look to see where he means, but you nod anyway, and with a quick jerk he has you turned facing the mirrors, your hips firmly pinned to his, and you can see how you look.

 _Wanton. Half way to ravished. Any other description from a romance novel. That's how you look_.

The deep green robe is falling off of one shoulder, and the sheer lace cup of your bra makes you realize exactly _how little_ the ridiculous garment covers. His pale fingers circle your neck, holding your head back against his shoulder, and one hand presses your lower body against his. He's pushed your back into a graceful arch, making you look long and slender and…

“Darling you really are…” he drops his dark head to your shoulder, and you can feel his lips moving as he speaks. “The most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Now answer me, pet. If I were to make you blush again, is it just your lovely face that shades so gently pink, or does every inch of you turn such an intriguing shade?”

And you think-- _oh god he wants to see me naked._

**************

 _He wants to see every inch of me_.

His hand leaves your hip, untying the silk robe with a deft little pull, and then he is moving, fingers spread wide to touch as much skin as possible, up your stomach, over your ribs to rest between your breasts.

“Here, love...Might I touch you here as well?” He whispers into your ear, and you are shaking your head yes, gasping little breaths as that clever tongue flicks across your ear and he breathes something so like a purr you think your knees might give out.

The pressure on your throat increases just enough to make your blood rush faster, and the other hand is cupping and kneading and stroking, plucking and teasing and _wait, when did he take my bra off?_

Alright, it isn't all the way off, but certainly not doing it's job covering you _at all_ and you are simply staring into the mirror as he touches you. His eyes are staring right into yours, watching you writhe, watching you squeeze your thighs together because you have been _wet_ since he called you _darling_ for the first time, and have only been getting worse. Or is it better?

“Is it too forward of me to ask to taste you?” _God it's like sin_ his voice so close to you, and when his words register it's _better than sin_ but you tense anyway, and he stills. “Darling?” He asks, wondering what has changed the mood. “Shall we stop then?”

And it's in that moment you realize that he would absolutely stop if you said so. Would stop rubbing that lovely bulge against your ass, would help you put your robe back on and go right back to designing a dress for you as if nothing had happened. And it's in that moment you realize that you will probably _never_ tell him to stop.

“Yes. I mean no.” You blurt and he raises an elegant brow. “I mean, I was just trying to remember if I shaved this morning!” And then you _do_ blush scarlet, and his eyes light up watching the color spread across your chest and up your neck to rest in your cheeks.

“That was adorable.” He says with smile and you know he's talking about the way you blush, and then he says, “and I am sure you are perfectly, satiny, smooth, but I would love so much to see for myself.” He let's the sentence hang like a question and once again you're nodding before you're thinking about it, and he is easing the robe entirely off of you, dropping it carelessly on the floor. You are left in just your bra, pulled down below your breasts, and the smallest scrap of fabric that counted as a thong when you bought this particular set.

He draws in a deep breath, the few buttons left fastened on his shirt straining with the effort. “Come along then.” His voice is _definitely_ hoarse now, and you lick your lips nervously.He licks his lips as well, but it’s not nervous at all. No, the motion is a slow easy slide of his tongue up and over that perfect mouth, his mesmerizing eyes nearly burning into your own through the mirror.   
“I have a much more private area to.. to..” he actually _stutters_ , when you step off the stage without covering yourself, and look back over your shoulder to see if he is coming.

“Magnificent.” He says with a look bordering on awed, as if such a beautiful man could be _awed_ by someone like you, but he is watching you like he completely is and it is completely… wonderful.

He is only a split second behind you though, lacing your fingers together and leading down a short hallway and through a door to his private room.

There is a desk with a chair, a stack of fabric that must be for a dress, and a gorgeous, plush, antique looking chaise lounge with several throw pillows scattered over it.

“It's so _long_ !” You exclaim without thinking and then blush horribly and he laughs quietly, and _god_ even the sound of his laugh brings heat curling up your spine.

“Yes well, I am quite tall.” He says and you turn to look at him in time to see that stiff white shirt come off, and the clasp to his dress pants open. “I need a rather long place to stretch out, don't I?”

You can't help it, literally can't help yourself from looking down, how is it _possible_ for all of him to fit into such tight pants?-- and he laughs again when you bite your lip.

“Up against the wall, if you please.” He instructs quietly, and you send him a startled look. “If you _please.”_ He says again and this time, for the first time, you realize he isn't asking.

But you move away, your hands resting behind your back, head leaned against the wall. You rather liked the way you looked in the mirror before, with your back curved out, so you mimic the pose again, and are pleased when his eyes darken just a shade and his hands clench the slightest bit.

“You _are_ aware of your beauty, aren't you?.” He says and you want to shake your head, because you've never been _the pretty one_ , but instead you tilt your chin just a little more and try to smirk. “Yes, of course you are. You couldn't possibly go through your life and not notice how extraordinary you are.”

He moves towards you slowly, steadily and for a second you envision a car, stalking a mouse and then when he smiles, you realize suddenly it's not a _cat_ he's a fucking _panther and you are just prey._

When you swallow past the lump in your throat, past another bout of nervousness, it's only then you realize he is close enough to touch you, close enough to pull the straps of your pretty bra down your arms and unclasp it. Close enough to use his tongue to count the smattering of freckles that dot your chest.

And then _oh fuck fuck fuck_ he's dropping to his knees in front of you, running one big hand from your ankle to your thigh, and lifting your leg until it rests over his shoulder.

“I'm going to use my mouth now.” He tells you, and you look down between your legs to where he is staring up at you, knees spread on the floor, eyes nearly black with desire, lean muscled chest heaving with every breath. “My mouth, and my tongue and perhaps my fingers, but only if you will permit me, of course.”

But once again, he isn't asking, and when his slim fingers pull the soaked material from between your legs and his tongue slips out to _lick, lap, taste you_ you jerk forward to bury both hands in all that dark hair, and he just hums in encouragement, and moves farther into you.

 _Jesus he's good at this._ You think, and then gasp when you realize you said it out loud, but he just looks up, and one green eye closes in a wink before you are crying out something that _nearly_ sounds like his name, but you can't be _entirely_ sure, really, because he has slipped two fingers deep inside you suddenly, and his mouth and tongue are still stroking and sliding over you and you are really quite close to screaming.

“Like that, again darling. Say my name again, in exactly that way.” He lifts his head just long enough to say, but his fingers are twisting inside you still, and when he curls them just right, your hips jerk and you nearly bite through your lip trying to muffle--

“No.” He scolds, and he is serious, you realize. He _wants_ you to be loud, and that sends a little thrill through you. “Say my name.” He repeats this softer, not as harshly and you just nod your head. “I want to hear you. Say it.”

He whispers your name, just once, in a perfect low tone, and then he is moving inside you again, fingers finding that one lovely spot that makes you shake, and his _mouth_ “Christ, your _mouth.”_ You whimper and he simply moans, pushing your leg higher on his shoulder, opening you up to _more_ of his tongue and _more_ of that gorgeous mouth, and then there's _three_ fingers inside of you and the stretch burns, but you can hardly notice because his tongue refuses to let up and just like that your eyes are fluttering closed and you're winding tighter and tighter--

And then he's gone, fingers and mouth and tongue and your eyes fly open.

“The _fuck--”_ you all but snarl at him, irritated at being brought so close and left wanting, and his green eyes nearly glow with amusement and lust and yes, even awe as he stares up at you.

“Forgive me, pet.” He says in a shaky voice, and lifts his hand to his mouth, licking his palm and every bit of the fingers that had been inside you. “This is terribly selfish of me, and I promise next time I will finish you like this but--

\--but your brain quit working when he said _next time_ and you have to shake yourself back to the moment.

“What?” You ask, and he presses a soft kiss to your thigh before lifting it from his shoulder carefully.

“I was saying, next time I will finish you like this, I honestly can't _wait_ to have you like this, but I am going to be entirely selfish and ask if you would mind terribly coming around my cock the first time.”

 _Coming around his cock_.

You could very nearly come from _that_ , hearing that perfectly proper, perfectly accented voice say something so filthy, but you take a steadying breath and “you're joking right?” Is all you manage. “You're asking if I'd mind…”

“Coming around my cock, yes.” He is standing now, somehow able to take your hand to lead you to the chaise lounge while stepping from his pants -- _good Christ he's not wearing anything underneath them_ \-- and dimming the lights without tripping over himself or breaking his stare and if you could string a thought together at all you would be jealous that he could handle that while you are still trying to talk yourself through breathing. “You wouldn't mind, of course, would you, kitten? I realize it's entirely rude to leave you wanting, but it won't be for long, I promise. You don't mind, do you?”

“Of-of course not.”

“There's a good girl.” He croons, and lays you out gently, arranging you on the furniture until you are comfortable and he is satisfied. “Please, would you touch me?” He asks then, leaning over to trace his tongue over your lips, tasting and licking into you until you're writhing beneath him. “Please.” He asks again, his voice strained now, and you run your hands over his chest, over the muscles that jump and twitch in his abdomen, to run your palm down his length, he hisses at the pleasure, his whole body going taut before he nearly collapses against you, remembering just in time to plant a knee on either side of you to keep his weight up. “You pretty little minx.” He gasps into your ear. “Perfect, _lovely_ , little thing. So precious I'm rather afraid I'll crush you. I am quite large but I promise I will be so careful with you. Please would you just… just again, darling? Once more for me?”

So you do it again, dragging your thumb across the leaking slit at the top of his cock, spreading the liquid over him, not quite able to get your fingers all the way around him, but you try, and he bucks forward into your hand when you squeeze gently. Again, harder this time, and he groans into your mouth as you work your hand up and down and over him. Inspiration, a bold idea on your part, and you let go of him just long enough to dip your fingers into your own core, and spread the wet all over him.

He jerks away from your mouth, eyes shut, jaw clenched as your hand moves smoothly, quickly now. His breath is coming faster, and you sit up just enough for your chest to brush against his as you stroke him.

After just a few minutes, he stops you abruptly, holding your wrist tight and for a second you wonder if you did something wrong, but he shakes his head as if he knew what you were thinking.

“Rather afraid I might not last long if we continue like this. Your hands are quite magical, my dear. Nearly my undoing.” He says with a smile just short of wicked and takes both your hands and places them well above your head, stretching you out. “Like this, for me, then. Lovely. That's wonderful.” He spreads your thighs, placing one foot on the floor carefully, running his hand up to your knee to bend it.

And you are suddenly just _open_ to his eyes and his fingers and suddenly self conscious, looking away from his stare, suddenly afraid that you just _don't measure up_ but he is cupping your jaw and shaking his head again, taking your mouth in a hard kiss.

“Do not think whatever you were just thinking now.” He commands. “Focus on me, on _us,_ only this moment.”

You nod slowly and his embrace gentles, sweetens.

“Can I have you now?” He whispers against your lips. “Will you-- will you share yourself with me?”

“Yes.” You whisper back, because there was never a chance that you would say no, and then he is moving into you without warning, just hot and heavy and thick and you are arching your back, canting your hips, not sure if you're trying to bring him deeper or slide away from the pressure, but it doesn't matter because he is pinning your hips to the couch, holding you still until after _forever_ his hips rest against yours.

And you are _full._ Stretched and filled and unable to move, hardly able to breath, but he is just as wrecked as you are, his dark head resting against your forehead, fingers flexing against your hip as he tries to calm himself, tried to slow his shaky breathing.

Finally, who knows how many minutes later, he looks up at you, almost surprised and completely amazed, and so gorgeous you could cry.

“You feel incredible, love.” His voice is barely more than a growl, and tremor racks your body, and when you tighten around him, he growls again. “Look at well you take me, how tightly you hold me inside you. You are simply _breathtaking_ .” And then he _moves_ in a long slow stroke that has you forgetting to keep your hands above your head, and _again and again_ and you are gripping that long black hair as your pleasure starts spiraling upward and _goddamnit_ every time he bottoms out inside of you, you are shivering and panting and scratching against his scalp.

“More.” You urge and he just smiles, soft and _predatory_ , moving over you in lazy thrusts, tilting your hips up to hit you _just right_ , forcing something closer to a shriek from your lips, and _that_ certainly interests him, because he can't help the stutter in his rhythm, can't help the way his eyes widen, so he does it again.

“Say my name. I want to hear it.” He says quietly, and shifts on top of you, faster now and you close your eyes as heat starts building deep inside you. “Say my name.” He says again, firmer this time, and you wrap a leg around his slender waist, and the new angle makes you cry out something unintelligible. “Say it.” He nearly snaps this time, picking up your other leg to hook around his body. “My name. Come now, pet, just once for me.” But you don't, not yet, and he is pounding into you now, sweat dripping from his forehead, down his neck and you lean up to lick it, savoring the salty nearly sweet taste on your tongue.

And then _oh oh oh_ one moment you were just coasting along blissfully and the next minute he has you _hurtling_ towards your peak, and it's because his hand found something much more interesting to do than just hold you still. Now with fingers pressing and flicking over you, that lovely _large_ cock inside you, you are helpless against it, and he's watching you, unable to look away as a flush climbs your neck, and your tighten your legs around his waist.

“Say my name.” He demands, urgently now, “please. I want to hear you scream for me, scream for me when you come.”

“Lo-loki.” You gasp and he moves yet _again_ , closer to you, deeper into you. “Loki!” You're biting your lip, trembling beneath him, and he slots your mouth together in a bruising kiss, and all at once everything thing is too much, and “ _LOKI!!”_ you're _screaming_ as you come, raking your nails across his shoulders, your back arching so far you are nearly off the couch, but he is there, solid and real, holding you tight, and you do the only thing you can do and sob his name as everything splinters around you and your vision goes white.

Dimly, you realize he is still thrusting into you, but then he is shaking and groaning and another pulse of heat rolls through you when he is as far as he can be inside you, cursing and swearing in that lovely posh voice as he finds his release.

And he is wrapping his arms around you, dotting kisses all over your face and neck and chest, everything he can reach, telling you over and over how lovely and perfect you are. How warm and wet, how well you take him, like it was meant to be, how gorgeous you were to watch as you came apart in his arms. Your name is tumbling from his lips in harsh pants, and you card your fingers through his long hair, smiling because it's starting to curl, and you might already be in love with this mussed, exhausted side of him.

So you reach up, winding your arms around his shoulders to tug him down to rest against you, welcoming his weight, content to float in the afterglow.

You don't know how much later it is when he finally leaves you, reaching for a length of silk and sliding it under your hips to keep from making a mess. He grins at the way you shift against the material, moaning at how it cool it feels sliding across your heated skin.

“Yes, darling.” He says as he slides his pants back up and over his slim hips. “I think silk for your new dress would be just the thing, don't you? It feels lovely doesn't it?”

“Do I need another appointment, then? Because you never even finished taking my measurements.” You ask with a satisfied grin, because not only are you feeling _wonderful_ but you _finally_ managed to say something clever, so you stretch languidly, rolling over to your side and _dying_ when his hands falter on his buttons, his eyes widening as he stares at you, his gaze drifting from your undoubtedly messy hair, to your kiss bruised lips, and across the marks from his fingers on your hips.

“Oh.” He comes back to himself with a shake. “Oh my love, I do believe it will take me _weeks_ to come up with the perfect dress for you.”

“Weeks?” You repeat, raising an eyebrow, and he drops to his knees to kiss you almost desperately, and suddenly you think that perhaps _you_ seduced _him_ , and he proves you right when he whispers softly, quietly,

“Could I, sweetheart? Could I have weeks with you? Months perhaps? An entire summer, even?”

“Will all my dress fittings be like this?” You whisper in return and he smiles that slow wicked smile and your heart starts beating fast all over again.

“Oh darling. I would rather hope so.”

*******************

*******************

It's been a week and you still tremble just a little, squirm in your seat just a little, maybe need to fan yourself the _tiniest bit_ when you think of your appointment with Loki.

When Alyssa asked about the dress fitting, you had shrugged and said he had been too busy to fit you in, and then you had had to talk her out of calling and chewing him out.

 _This is why I don't lie._ You think for the thousandth time as she bitches about it _again._ But it's not like you could just tell your cousin that instead of getting the perfect dress made for her first big summer party, you had let the designer lay you out on his chaise lounge and absolutely--

 _And now I need to leave the room._ You put your silverware down and got up from the table, ready to flee to your upstairs room and… _well…_ knowing your face is stained red, which makes your thoughts even _worse_ because he loves the way you blush and now you are _officially_ unable to carry on any more conversation.

“Oh wait!” Alyssa calls and you try so hard not to snap at her, because _you need to leave now._ “I finally got ahold of Loki, and he needs me in for my first official fitting for my wedding dress. I told him that he needed to fit you in as well. So we are leaving in just a few minutes.”

 _Fuck me._ You think and then promptly shake your head because _oh_ that image in your head just won't go away.

“That's fine.” You reply through clenched teeth, because saying no would not only piss your sweet but entirely high maintenance cousin off, but you really _do_ need the dress done, and even though you are just on _this_ side of terrified to be in the same room him… well you're a grown ass adult and you can handle it.

~~~~

Actually, no, perhaps you can't handle this.

Just walking back into the shop has your back tensing and fingers shaking, and Loki isn't even in the room. Instead it's that cute little assistant of his, Darcy, and she smiles at you like she's never seen you before in her life, and you silently give a prayer of thanks to whichever god might be listening.

She is chattering at Alyssa, gushing over how perfect the wedding dress will be, and how Mr Laufeyson was so excited for Alyssa to see it for the first time.

“And where is he?” Alyssa asks in that haughty tone you have secretly dubbed her ‘I need to speak to the manager tone’ because it usually precluded some poor salesperson or waitress getting yelled at.

“Oh, he is just running an errand and--”

“Ah, my lovely Lady Alyssa, how _are_ you?” Loki interrupts smoothly as he comes in the front door, and there. it. is. Definitive proof that you don't even need to _see_ the man to react to him, oh no, that low _ridiculous_ voice will do the job.

You close your eyes and bite your lips and count to ten before turning to smile at him.

And maybe you imagine it, honestly you _must_ be imagining it, because it seems as if his sure smooth stride falters just a bit, and perhaps there's just a slight hitch in his step when his eyes meet yours.

But you can't say either way, because he is standing right in front of Alyssa, reaching for her hands to kiss and telling her how beautiful she looks today and how much she will love the dress, and Alyssa is blushing prettily and giggling back at him and you might as well be fourteen again, standing in the background of a party while everyone flocks to the pretty and charming and _fucking adorable_ Alyssa.

 _Please let this floor just swallow me up._ You think, wanting to scream and curse because _obviously_ the insufferable prick is this way with every lady who comes in his store, and you had been swooning over him all week. And you wish that maybe you had worn something other than a flowy tank top and leggings, because while being comfortable had seemed like a great idea, maybe he would have at least spared you a glance if you'd been nearly busting from a tiny summer dress like Alyssa was.

“I really must apologize,” he was saying in that _perfect fucking_ tone, and Alyssa was acting as if she hadn't been furious with him for days. “I'm afraid when you sent your lovely cousin to me--” your head swivels around because _what?_ “I was just… caught up in something else entirely.” And now he's looking at you, even if he is still holding her hands, and that deep green gaze refuses to let you go. “I'm afraid I was completely selfish to her, and she was an absolute darling and forgave me anyway.”

 _Fuck fuck fuck._ Because he could only be talking about that one thing when you were up against the wall, and _oh_ you can feel the blush climbing your cheeks and _oh did he just bite his lip?_

“But I must insist on making it up to you, of course. I did have so many plans for you, my dear, and we barely got to any of them.” And now he is not only _looking_ but _talking_ directly to you, and you just want to melt.

But you **don't** . Grown ass adult and all that. Instead you take his hand when he reaches for you, and he draws it up to his mouth to press a kiss to it and you _swear_ his tongue flicks out to press between your fingers, but that--that's crazy right? That a little thing like that would send sparks zinging through you?

“Alyssa, sweetheart, let Darcy take you back to the fitting room and help you with your dress. Just call when you are ready, won't you?”

“You won't be helping me?” Alyssa asks in surprise, and you want to ask the same thing, except he is still holding your hand, and rubbing his thumb against your palm and your brain is completely off line, and you just want to stare at his body wrapped in a black silk shirt and black pants because _oh my god._

“Now, darling, you know I have a policy against being alone with my clients. Causes people to talk and all that.” He say smoothly and Alyssa shrugs, and you have to act like he hadn't spent your entire appointment alone and mostly naked with you, because _wow_ that would set Alyssa off.

“But I've been coming to you for years.” She pouts. “Surely you know by now I won't scream harassment simply because you see me in my delicates.” And the girl _bats her eyelashes at him_ , and he just smiles and calls for his assistant.

“We have much to discuss if you want your cousin to have a perfect wardrobe for the summer.” He encourages as Darcy leads Alyssa from the room. “So she and I will simply talk boring details, and when you are ready we will join you in the back.”

Alyssa shoots me an apologetic look over her shoulder, and you realize that she thinks she is leaving you in an awkward situation. You'd never been the smoothest when it comes to men, and she is feeling sorry for you.

Well she can _suck it_ because you can one hundred percent handle this situation.

“Hello, then, darling.” His voice softens and he presses your hand to his lips again and you _one hundred percent cannot handle this situation._ “You’ll forgive me for not calling? I was rather… distracted at the end our last meeting and didn't realize the only number I have for you belongs to the lovely bride, and it it would be just the _height_ of rudeness to call her and ask for you, wouldn't it?”

“It's all good.” Is all you manage to say, and promptly roll your eyes at yourself because _honestly._ “I swear I actually have a wonderful grasp of the English language.” You explain, completely exasperated at yourself. “I just--you know...tongue tied around you.”

“I find myself in the same predicament.” He promises and you roll your eyes again, because no one who can say _predicament_ could possibly be tongue tied.

“You hide it better than I do.” You say with a short laugh, and his lips curl into that entirely distracting half smile and he places your hand on his chest, right over his heart, and your eyes widen because it is _beating out of control_ and it's obviously because of _you._

 _“_ Oh.” You say and your voice trembles and _god_ you wish you were better at this flirting thing.

“If I could feel your heart,” his other hand comes up to just lightly brush the strap of your tank top, just lightly against your shoulder. “If I could feel your heart, would it be racing as well? Could it be, darling, that you are just as affected as I?”

He is already leaning down to kiss you, but stops just above your mouth, and you try unsuccessfully to muffle a frustrated noise.

“I love the noises you make.” He says with a teasing smile, “but I don't want to assume anything and perhaps be mistaken. Would you let me kiss you, on your lips, my pet? Or perhaps just your cheek? I would love either option. But, oh, what about here?” He trails long fingers down the column of your neck and your head tilts back automatically. “Good girl, you remember how much I like that.” He murmurs and shifts closer, and _really_ the whole ‘good girl’ thing should irritate you, but coming from him it's an endearment, and you aren't about to tell him no. Not to _anything_.

“May I, sweetheart?” He asks again, because he's still waiting for your permission and you can't find anything _clever_ or _romantic_ to say, so you use your default and just nod.

He smiles like he knows that he has pulled every word from your brain, and closes the distance, bringing your mouths together in an entirely too short kiss, and when he lifts his head, you are gripping his stupid silk shirt with both hands to pull him down for another.

“Little minx, we can't. Not here.” He says with a shake of his dark head. His hair is straight and perfectly in place today and you wonder if he would let you muss it again. “Even though the idea of having to wait to be _right here_ again--” he drags the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip “--is very nearly excruciating, I feel as if the bride would have a fit if she caught us.”

“She totally would.” You admit. “She doesn't share attention very well.”

“Growing up, I imagine she hated to be in your shadow.” He still hasn't moved away from you, but you actually _laugh_ because his statement is so ridiculous.

“Oh god no.” You shake your head vehemently. “No, Alyssa has always been the pretty one. I just tag along for the ride.”

“It distresses me that you feel as if you are second to her.” He says thoughtfully, and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “When you are so obviously--”

“You don't have to flatter me. It's fine. I have a pretty giant crush on you, the charm and all that isn't super necessary to get me in bed again.” You interrupt, and seriously it's like you are _trying_ to sabotage this, but he simply raises an elegant brow, unfazed by your blunt words.

“You honestly have no idea how beautiful you are, do you? Surely you have noticed the way men stare. Even women. I do believe Darcy is quite sweet on you. And of course, you know that I--” he cups your jaw and kisses you again, and he slides a hand over your hips and up your back until he can wrap his fingers through your hair and tug your head back until you are opening your mouth on a gasp and he is surging inside to taste you and quite possibly _mark_ you because he bites your lip hard enough to make it sting, hard enough that you draw back with a surprised little yelp. “Surely you know that just the sight of you is enough to send my heart racing? And of course, you know you could force me to my knees with just your lovely mouth.” He whispers against your skin and a tremor rolls through you, and he moans just soft enough for you to hear. “You _must_ know that even the barest  touch of your hand on my flesh is enough to bring my release.”

 _Holy freaking-- are voice kinks a thing?_ the question is flying through your mind, because whether they are or not, you have _definitely_ developed a voice kink for this man.

And he just smiles that half smile again, as if he can read your thoughts and brings you in closer to him, pressing you against his body until you are close enough to feel exactly how much he wants you, and when you whimper, and roll your hips into his, those eyes darken to nearly black.

“My love, I think I need you right now.” He breathes and is pulling you towards a wall, towards a corner of the store you can't see from the window, and _of course_ you are letting him, because _screw Alyssa_ you are most definitely going to let him take you again, whether she is trying on a wedding dress or--

“Mr Laufeyson, we are ready for you.” Perky, friendly Darcy has opened the door to the hallway and Loki stops instantly, and is smoothly herding you towards the back rooms, not even breathing hard in the slightest, while you are overly glad for your tank top falling below your hips because you're in white leggings and don't _really_ need Alyssa knowing how close you were to needing a change of clothes.

Loki smiles at Darcy, and you bare your teeth in _something_ like a smile, because she could be the perkiest, friendliest  girl in the world and you still kind of want to throw her through a window for interrupting.

But _oh_ Alyssa's dress is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and she is just beaming and vibrant and you feel bad for not having been focused on her this entire time.

“You're beautiful.” You tell her, and there are definitely tears in your eyes.

“Don't make me cry.” She scolds. “My mascara will run.”

 _There she is._ You roll your eyes and he catches it and just grins at you, before moving forward to devote all his attention to the bride, because that's really how it should be, after all.

When they are finished, and Alyssa is back in her regular clothes, he kisses both her cheeks and tells her it will be a few more weeks to get the final details sewn into the gown, then there will be just a few final fittings before the big day.

“I'm rather pressed for time,” he says to her, but is looking at you. “So perhaps tomorrow evening, we can finalize something for this sweet girl to wear?” Alyssa nods, and you nod as well, because it's not like you are going to tell him no. “Around six then, if that's alright with you, darling. I'll pull several designs and we can find the perfect one for you.”

“What material did you decide on?” Alyssa asks you then, because just this morning you had been complaining how uncomfortable most dress clothes were and how you wished you could wear denim. She had calmly threatened to kick you out of her wedding if you even _considered_ wearing denim to any of her parties and you had just made a face and kept eating waffles.

“Oh, I do think we decided on silk.” He says and Alyssa grins, evidently pleased, and completely missing the reason your face flames red.

“Silk is perfect! It will look great on you!”

“It really is perfect.” He agrees and you look away so you won't say anything stupid, because it's bad enough you are blushing like this.. “Really,” and his voice depends just enough that your eyes flutter close for a second. “A wonderful choice. Silk is without a doubt my favorite material.”

“Alyssa.” You clear your throat, changing the subject and not even caring how obvious it is. “We have to meet your parent remember? Dinner? Finalizing wedding plans.”

“Ah, that's why you're the maid of honor! I would never be anywhere on time!” She cries and rushes away and Loki sends you a heated look as she leaves.

“Till tomorrow then, darling?”

In another example of your wonderful handle on words, you grin like a loon and reply, “Sounds like a party.”

And you can hear that toe curling, hot flash inducing laugh all the way out the door.

*************************

*************************

Loki’s assistant Darcy is really just the sweetest person in the world. She has helped you with the four dresses Loki had chosen for you, had pointed out in a soft tone where an extra stitch needed to added or taken away, had great suggestions for accessories for the clothing.

Really, really just the sweetest.

And you feel terribly because you haven't been listening to her at all.

You are up on that stage in the back room, in front of all those mirrors, and she is chattering about how this particular shade of blue must be her favorite on you, but you are watching Loki _watching_ you, because he hasn't looked away once this entire time.

When you had arrived for your six o’clock appointment, it had been Darcy that took you back, who had pulled the items to try on, who had helped you in and out of every dress, had complimented you non stop on how pretty you were and how the dresses were just perfect.

And he had watched. When you got undressed the first time, his expression hadn't even changed, he’d just shifted to lean against the wall. Darcy had asked suddenly if you were comfortable having him there, because after all, he needed to see the dresses on you, but he could wait until you were dressed, and she was _terribly_ sorry for not asking first, she had just assumed you were fine with it and you had met his eyes in the mirror and just shook your head that yes, he could stay.

The second time you changed dresses, his hands clenched at his side a little, but he still didn't say anything, still leaned up against the wall as if he saw this everyday, which he probably _did_ but it still made his lack of reaction a little disconcerting.

So when Darcy held up the third dress, you smiled and bent over at the waist to step into it, and grinned into the mirror when his eyes widened and he took a step forward before stopping himself.

The fourth dress is your favorite, a floor sweeping gown with delicate off shoulder sleeves, in the most astonishing shade of blue you had ever seen, and you can't believe the girl in the mirror is _you._

“So this, is glacier blue.” Darcy says proudly. “We had it dyed specifically for this gown. And I have to say it's just about the loveliest color I think Ive ever seen! Really this it--”

“That will be all for the night, Darcy.” Loki finally interrupts. “I'll finish up with any measurements or alterations.”

“Oh are you--”

“That will be all, Darcy.” he repeats, and she just nods and basically runs from the room.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, and honestly you’re content to stare at your reflection for a few more minutes before you have to take the gown off.

“What a sweet torture this is.” he finally says and his words are low and soft and _velvet_ and you can't help your shiver. “I honestly had no idea what you would do to me.”

“What's that?” you ask, and he pushes himself off the wall to move towards you, never taking his eyes off your reflection.

“You have looked so lovely in all these dresses, it's almost a shame for you to take them off. But knowing what lies _beneath_ the dress is enough to drive me to distraction. And watching you dress and undress all evening has left me in quite a state, my dear.” He steps up behind you on the stage, his hands running lightly over the silk, down over your waist to settle on your hips. “Do you feel what you do to me?” his fingers curl around you and pull you back to him and _oh god_ as he rocks against you.

“But to see you in this dress… I confess to feeling uncertain of myself.”

 _What?_ You ask yourself, because how could _he_ be feeling uncertain, when you are probably one more sentence from making an absolute _fool_ of yourself. “What-what do you mean?” you ask nervously, and his grip tightens just enough to make you gasp, as he leans to whisper in your ear.

“What I mean to say, darling, it that I rather can't decide if I want you _wearing the dress_ and spread out on the floor beneath me, or if I'm willing to _ruin_ the dress by ripping it off you and taking you against that wall.”

Keep reading

A tremor racks your body, and you can't stop a moan, and the smile he gives you is really more of a leer. “Which idea did you like better, pet, the floor, or the wall?” and you really want to demand _both_ but that might seem greedy, so you take a deep breath and try to tamp your libido just a bit.

“You haven't even kissed me yet.” you say with a short grin, somehow coming off much smoother than you are feeling. “What kind of girl gives it up without a kiss first.”

He laughs, green eyes sparkling. “You are delightfully funny, kitten.” he says. “And of course, let me correct my error.”

He turns you in his arms, before stepping back off the platform, and suddenly you are eye level with him, perhaps just a shade taller, and it's such an _interesting_ position, because you can run your fingers through his perfect hair, and he sighs a little when you do, so you do it again, harder this time, pulling until his eyes flash and he jerks your hips forward and takes your mouth in a hard kiss.

“Open for me.” he says hoarsely. “There’s a good girl.” because the second he asked you were letting him into your mouth, letting his tongue taste and tease you, and every time you try to match his movement, he bites down on your lip, so you just sigh and open wider and let him do as he pleases.

Then his hands are running down your back, pulling the zipper of the dress along with them, and you jerk away when the silk falls off your shoulders and down to your waist.

“Yes.” he is staring, panting and places your hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat. “Yes, darling, you are perfect. Please, could I--” and he is tracing a fingers over the soft curve of your breast, under your bra, and then just _heat_ when he pulls it down with one quick jerk to cover you with his mouth.

“ _God_ .” You’re hands are buried in his hair again, holding him tight against you and when he _moans,_ when his teeth scrape over you, your whole body jerks and then he seals his mouth around you to _suck and pull,_ and pleasure races down you, and you didn't _think_ that your knees would actually go weak, but _fuck_ and maybe if he keeps doing just this, you could come right here.

“I know darling.” he stops just long enough to pant. “I am very nearly there as well.”

“I said that out loud?” you ask, instantly self conscious, and he is standing back up, framing your face with his hands, kissing you desperately.

“It's lovely, my pet, perfect the way you say what you are thinking. Especially now, especially when we are like this.”  You can't answer because he is inside your mouth again, aggressive now so you can barely breathe, but his hands are pushing the dress farther off your hips, climbing your back to unclasp your bra and toss it away, and just before you can reach to help with the little bit of cotton masquerading as your bottoms, he breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he stares down at you.

“What- what you do to me, darling,” he stammered, “ it's nearly too much. But you know, don't you? You must know. You _must_ know, darling.”

“I'm learning.” you admit with a shy smile, because you still can't believe _this_ is happening, and perhaps it's a little hard for you to believe that he _wants_ you like this, but he shakes his head and pulls you flush against him and you aren’t sure which of the two you cries out louder, but he draws you into another kiss and argues,

“There is nothing to learn, sweetheart. Just _know_ it. Just _know,_ my love, that I am quite lost on you, and there is nothing I would ever want to do about it.”

You just nod then, too caught up in the way his eyes are blown so wide, and the way his chest is heaving beneath that soft blue shirt, and _how much of him_ is pressing against you, so you just nod, and his eyes spark a little dangerously and he leans in to rest his forehead on yours, to trace over your jaw and lips with his thumb.

“You'll have to forgive me for rushing things tonight, but I have to have you _now_. Would you please-- oh darling say you understand. I'm not sure if I can wait much longer. I had such lovely, romantic plans for tonight but I--”

“Yes.” you interrupt. “Yes, god, _please.”_

He mumbles something you can't quite catch but it sound like _darling_ and _my love_ and _perfect_ but you can't think about it for too long because he picks up right up, wrapping your legs around his waist and spins to take the few steps to the wall and “Loki!” you can't help gasping his name when he nearly slams you against it and his voice comes through like a growl when he says your name back.

He pins you there, one hand keeping you steady, and with the other, he reaches down and shreds your little thong, just rips it right apart and you want to scream at how hot the whole ripping thing is, but then you hear the clink of his belt as he drops his pants then he is pressing against you, between your legs and you take a deep breath in because suddenly it seems impossible for him to fit inside you, not without any preparation.

But when he leans close and croons in your ear, “Are you wet for me darling?” if you hadn't been before you _certainly are now,_ and he laughs quietly because he _knows._

“Can I have you here, darling?” he asks, sliding himself up and over you, not inside, not yet, not without your permission. “Just like this? Can I take you against the wall like this? Will you give yourself to me?”

And all you can do is tremble and whisper _yes yes yes_ over and over, until he is pressing inside you, and thrusting inside you and then you are _calling_ out for him, scratching your nails down his back, and he is apologising because “My love I just won't last like this, you are too much for me, but _please_ come for me darling, come around me just like this, how we were last time, let me feel you when you find your pleasure.” So you push back against him until he shifts and the feel of him is _perfect,_ and the way his eyes glow when you lay your own hand between your bodies to bring yourself to your edge, makes it even _better_ . Then you are dropping your head back into the wall, and everything is _heat and tight and so good_ and he is saying your name like a prayer, until he is pulsing inside you, forcing you harder into the wall, his whole body shaking, his breath coming like sobs.

And like you have done it a thousand times, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, until he lifts you from the wall, and sinks down to his knees, easing from you so you can sit on the floor.

“Just a moment, kitten.” he whispers, and is gone and right back with a soft towel, and his jacket. Without any effort at all, he lifts you right onto his lap, the towel beneath you, and wraps his jacket around you and pulls your tight against him.

You just sigh and lay your head on his shoulder, lips close to where you can still see his heart pounding in his neck, and you smile because you know you have _never_ been with anyone like this, and you are starting to think you never will be again.

“I did have plans for us tonight.” he says after a while, and when you try to look up at him, he just presses your head back down, his other hand running soothingly up and down your thighs. “Romantic ones, too. I'm afraid I quite lost my head.”

“Are you apologizing?” you ask, wanting to roll your eyes and he hesitates.

“I will, if you would like. I realize that being taken against a wall is--”

“The hottest thing I’ve ever done? Maybe my new favorite thing in the world? Making me reconsider wearing dresses, because if this is how you react to them, then I will need dozens.”  you interrupt, and you can feel his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Such a delightful little minx, you are. So funny.”

“Yeah, well I'm here all summer.” you yawn a little, and he scoots you even closer.

“I rather wish I could see you sleep.” he says quietly, absentmindedly, and you wonder if he knows he said _that_ out loud, and then you wonder if it's a bad sign that you don't think that was creepy at all. “Might I take you to lunch this week?”

“Really? Like a date?” you _absolutely_ look up now, and his green eyes are so soft and open it just about takes your breath away.

“If you would let me.” he nods, and runs long fingers through his fantastically messy hair. “We could do something other than fittings and--”

“Don't say and sex, because if that's off the table, I won't say yes.” you warn, and he bursts into laughter, and tilts your head up for a long kiss.

“You are extraordinary, darling.”

**********************

**********************

“Tell me about yourself darling.” He says from the other side of the table at the cutest cafe you've ever been in. “I want to know everything.”

“We've slept together twice.” You comment drily. “I can't imagine there's much you _don't_ know about me.”

“Be that as it may,” he teases and _oh look at that,_ his smile affects you just as much in public as it does in private. “Tell me something anyway. What's your favorite color? How old were you when you were kissed for the first time?”

So you take a sip of your water and sigh and tell him...everything. You tell him about school and how you've been struggling with finding the motivation to get through your last semester. You tell him about the crappy job you've had since highschool and how just because you're a manager doesn't mean people don't try to walk all over you still. You get a little choked up talking about growing up with Alyssa and how it was so hard on you when she changed so suddenly and how glad you are to be spending this summer with her, even if most days she acted like a complete bridezilla and you had briefly entertained the thought of cutting her hair off.

He claps his hands and laughs then, so you ask about _him._

“I love my family.” He says first. “My sisters and my mum and dad. They are all still in England, it's just me on this side.”

You frown because _lonely much?_ And he shakes his head when you say that.

“Not so much anymore, pet.” And you blush, then, and he reaches across to take your hand. “I love to design clothes, it's rather like a work of art, isn't it, a perfectly put together outfit? I've had several relatives in the fashion industry and I enjoy it.”

He's older than you, by more than a few years, you are surprised to learn. Obligatory cradle robbing jokes ensue and you keep making them just to hear that sexy laugh again.

“As long as you don't question my stamina, darling. I'd hate to have to prove a point here in the cafe.” He counters with a wink and you nearly choke on your drink.

“Is this weird?” You finally ask, almost an hour later, after you have learned that he prefers Jameson-- _shudder, gross--_ to scotch, he would be Superman if he had to pick a superhero, and he has a soft spot for Shakespeare, but you don't know a single British person who doesn't, so you aren't too impressed with that.

“Is it weird,” you ask again, “whatever this is between us?”

“I think it is… surprising.” He confesses. “When Ms. Alyssa called to make an appointment for her cousin I certainly wasn't expecting to be quite so…” his eyes soften and your breath hitches a little. “Quite so enchanted, quite so swiftly.”

“I don't get it.” You admit, and his fingers tighten around yours.

“Honestly darling, I think that's half of your appeal.” He smiles easily and rubs his thumb across your palm. “You don't belong here, with these women who are all plastic and credit cards and summer houses. You are original and authentic, and because of that you simply outshine them. I knew the moment I saw you that you are different. Even your lovely cousin pales next to you.”

“Loki.” You start to roll your eyes, start to tell him to stop being ridiculous, but he shushes you.

“See, exactly that, sweetheart. You have no idea how lovely you are, what a relief it is to be around someone real. Do you know what kind of women come to a designer to pay outrageous amounts of money for a dress for a single party that they will never wear again?”

“Not women like me?” You venture and he grins at you looking inordinately pleased.

“That's exactly right, exactly right!  And that's why you are so _intriguing_ . You simply say whatever it is you want to, there are no word games or twisted phrases. And if you don't have anything to say, you don't pretend otherwise. Or you make that delicious little frustrated noise I simply adore.” You blush then and his smile grows. “Even the way you dress. Darling, you are _breathtaking_ in a dress, quite literally heart stopping in an evening gown, but you in your favorite jeans and tank top when you are the most comfortable and the most at ease… exquisite. Lovely. Quite the picture of seduction, and you aren't even trying.” He leans close over the table and lowers his voice. “You are perfectly and wholly _you,_  and so irresistible, I am really quite gone on you already.”

“Pretty words.” You tease, trying to change he subject before you quite possibly climb over the table and have your way with him because _damn it_ how can he saw things like that as if you're used to hearing them everyday?. “But I expect _actual_ poetry if I'm going to be seen in public with you.”

“Are we doing this more, then?” He asks, arching one of those perfect brows. “Lunch in public? Conversations that don't involve me asking if I can--”

“Please don't finish that sentence.” You blurt, then hang your head as a blush starts climbing your cheeks.

“I think I'm half in love with the way you blush, kitten.” He is almost laughing and you just shake your head at him, mortified. “Do I make you uncomfortable, the way I speak to you?”

“No.” You take a long drink of water to give yourself a minute. “No, it's just… a lot. I like your voice though. So you know… don't stop.” You blush again when you say that, but the way his eyes light up make it worth it.

“So, poetry is it, darling?” He asks, and leans even closer. “What shall I read to you? Or would you rather me compose ballads for you and recite them as we lie in bed together?”

 _Good Christ._ You fan yourself with a napkin thinking about that voice reading poetry in bed and _oh_ you need some more water right now.

“‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?’” He quotes softly, teasingly. “‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’” And you want to laugh and freak out all at the same time because _you know_ he is messing with you, quoting such a cliche poem, but _oh his voice_ like that. But two can play this game, and you took more than one English literature class in school, so you push your hair off your shoulders and lean forward until your shirt gaps a little and his eyes drop to look.

“Love comes forth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun.” You quote in a hushed tone, and his eyes spark with something a little dangerous. “Love's gentle spring does always fresh remain; Lust's winter comes before summer half be done. Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, and lust full of forged lies.’”

He is silent, staring at you and you smile a little nervously. “I had to paraphrase a little, early Shakespeare is not really my--”

“Venus and Adonis.” He finally says. “I quote a cliche little line from Sonnet 18, and you quote from Venus and Adonis, which very well may be the earliest writing we have of the Bard, and I-I--” he is stammering again and you are still uncertain if you offended him or if he is pleased. “I have long been under the impression that poetry was meant to woo the fairer sex, that having such words spoken to me would not stir me in the _least_.” He is still watching you steadily, and when you bite your lip anxiously, he visibly reacts, jerking a little in his seat before covering the movement by reaching for his water.

“Today, love, you have proven me wrong, and perhaps inexorably written yourself across the pages of my heart.”

“Um, yay?” You squeak, still unsure of what he is trying to say and he clears his throat.

“To say I am _stirred_ is an understatement, my dear.”

Oh. _Oh._ You're eyes drop to his lap before you can stop yourself, and he shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Poetry?” You ask, just to be sure, and when he nods, looking heated and _ready_ , you throw your hand up to get the waiter's attention.

“Check Please!”

*******************

*******************

You don't remember falling asleep on the chaise lounge in his office, but you jerk awake and blindly reach for your phone, dismayed to see it's been over an hour since you had decided to lay down for a minute while waiting for Loki to finish with a customer.

“Oh crap.” You mutter and start to sit up but _wait,_ he's sitting on the floor against the seat,  with his head almost resting in your lap, flipping idly through a magazine.

“Did you have a nice nap, darling?” He queries, laying his head back enough to smile at you.

“I can't believe I fell asleep, I'm so sorry!” You stammer, and push your hair awkwardly out of your eyes.

“Don't worry, it's no problem. Are you feeling better?”

“I don't think I'm awake enough to know.” You say ruefully and he laughs at you.

“So perfectly honest, I love it. You looked so exhausted when you came in, I didn't want to wake you. So when my client left I just--” he rustled the pages of his magazine.

“Yeah, well, I assume when you called to see if I would come over, it wasn't just so I could sleep.” You sit up and stretch, and his eyes trace over you appreciatively. You know the thin camisole doesn't actually count as a shirt, and your cotton shorts are better used as Jammie's, but _really_ it's not like you had been planning on wearing them for very long anyway.

And you feel the _tiniest bit_ slutty for thinking that way, but honestly after three or four lunch dates and twice weekly  “dress fittings” with the man, you had taken to showing up at his shop in something easy to pull off.  No muss, no fuss.

“What are you thinking, kitten?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “You have this lovely, dreamy, soft look to you just now.”

“I was thinking about--” and you motion between the two of you, blushing a little.

“Ah.” He turns so he is facing you, kneeling on the floor in front of you. “And what moment between the two of us came to mind exactly?”

“Um, all of them?” You offer and he laughs, reaching for your hand and threading your fingers together.

“Yes, but do you have a favorite? Perhaps something we can re enact tonight?”

“Reenact?” You raise both eyebrows in mock horror. “Does this mean you've already run out of ideas for us? Just a few weeks and we have to start recycling-- _mmph_!”

He silences you with a short kiss, and when he pulls away his eyes are already darkening to that almost-black that makes you _weak._

“My love, I could write _novels_ with all the ideas I have for us.” And you can't stop your silly smile because _holy crap_ he's gorgeous. “I was just wondering if you have one you particularly like. Perhaps a way I used my fingers, or a position we tried or--” his voice is getting quieter as he shifts closer to you, his lips brushing over yours in light, barely there touches.

“Oh! I need to use the bathroom.” You jump to your feet, nearly knocking him over, then stop and clap both hands over your mouth. “ _Jesus_ I am the worst at this!” You cry. “You are so smooth and all I can do is say awkward things and kick you when I stand!”

But he is laughing up at you from the ground, _somehow_ still completely delighted in your awkwardness and clumsiness, and the warmth in his eyes makes you drop to the floor next to him and kiss him hard. “You're incredible.” You say when you lean away and he tugs your hair playfully.

“So are you, my lovely little minx. Even when you are awkward.”

You just grin like an idiot and scramble back up to head towards the bathroom to relieve yourself and check to make sure you shaved this morning and rinse the sleep out of your mouth because _it's going down_ as soon as you get back into the room, and your hands actually tremble a little bit, which makes you smile, because you would think after nearly a dozen encounters with him, the butterfly's would have worn off, _but they totally haven't_ and that makes you so happy.

So you smooth your hair back and act like you aren't a nervous jumbly mess inside, and open the door to his office.

And he is still sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee as he slowly unbuttons the smoky grey shirt that was stretched _so deliciously_ across his chest just a minute ago.

“What--what are you doing?” You ask, and your voice is a little shaky and you _know_ he hears it because his mouth curls up in an absolutely _wicked_ smile.

“You know, darling, I had a thought just now, that I have actually been neglecting something between us that I believe needs to be rectified immediately.”

 _That… was a lot of words._ You think but you just raise an eyebrow and look at him because you _absolutely_ don't need to say every stupid thing that crosses your mind.

“You don't remember?” He asks, but you aren't really listening because now he's unbuttoning his cuffs, and _why is that sexy_ to see a polished put together man unbutton his _cuffs_ , but it is, so you just watch.

“That's unfortunate.” He continues, and raises that perfect ass so he can pull his shirt tails from his pants, and it falls open over his chest and you're _fucked_ because-- well come on. You're just never going to get tired of seeing him take his shirt off. “I must not have done a good enough job then, and I really must apologize for that.”

“What?” You drag your eyes back to his, and he is getting to his knees and sliding his shirt down over his arms and you almost wish you could see it from the back because you know _so many muscles_ are flexing with such a simple movement.

“Come sit here, darling.” He pats the lounge behind him and you cross the room maybe a _little_ unsteadily, as he reaches for the closure on his slacks and flicks it open. He never wears underwear, and you want to stop and look longer, but you sit instead, and he turns to face you, still up on his knees, pants falling lower on his slim hips, and you can't resist, you _can't,_ so you reach out and run your thumb over a sharp hipbone and he sighs one of those _long sighs_ that he only does when you touch him _just right._

You love that sound. _Fucking love it._

“Let me see if I can remind you.” He strokes up your things with a firm hand, until his fingers disappear under the leg of your shorts and you take a deep breath in. “Our very first appointment together, when I asked if I could taste you.”

 _Oh shit. Oh hell. Oh please please please yes._ But you're an adult, and in control(ish) of your reactions so you just nod a little, and he smiles just the smallest bit.

“And I asked you to stand by the wall.”

“You told me.” You interrupt. “You didn't ask that time.”

“Ah, that's right. I _told you_ to stand by the wall.” He amends. “And you were _so good_ weren't you, listening to me like that.” and a ribbon of heat winds around your chest at the way he says _so good_. “And I took your leg like this…” he curls his fingers under you but then stops. “No. No that's not right, is it, because I rather believe you were wearing less clothing.”

“I--I--I--” you can't put a sentence together at all and he _knows_ what he's done to you, so he urges you forward and lifts your shirt right off, then hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and brings them all the way down your legs and off your feet to toss carelessly behind him.

“Perfect.” He murmurs and is pulling at your hips and turning you until you are reclined back on the Lounge, arranged the way he likes, with one foot on the floor, and he mouths kisses clear up your calf as he lifts your other foot up and over his shoulder. Then he kneels between your spread legs, one hand rubbing over your waist in comforting circles, and bends close to whisper, “I do believe I promised you that _next time_ I would have you finishing like that, and I have yet to make good on that promise. So tell me, my pet, may I? May I touch you, there where you are so soft and warm? Would you let me have you like this?” Then he presses his lips to your ear and says “Will you take your pleasure from my mouth and my tongue and fingers? Please say yes, darling.”

***************

He starts with a whisper, a sigh, a breath of air that is your name from his lips.

Then he is tracing over your jaw, running his fingers over your lips and covering your mouth in a slow, mind-drugging kiss until your hands have come into his hair and your tongue is tangling with his as it twists and licks inside you. You moan when he breaks the kiss and he sighs again, says your name like he might be praying, and moves lower.

You never realized how sensitive your neck was, not until that first night when he had held you, and now every time he so much as touches you, chills race down you and tonight is no different when he draws his tongue down your skin, and covers the same trail with light teasing kisses until you are tilting your head back to open up for him, to encourage _more._

“Good girl.” He half whispers, half purrs. “That's perfect.”

And now he uses his teeth, scraping down oversensitive flesh, nibbling tiny bites, careful not to mark you, careful just to tease, you think _he takes such good care of me_ because it wouldn't do you any good to go home with giant hickeys no matter how badly you want to show them off.

He can feel your heartbeat, there at the base of your neck, and he rests his lips there, reaching out for your hand to bring to his own heart. “Do you feel what you do to me?” and you curl your fingers into his chest and _know_ his heart's pounding like that _for you._ “For you, darling.” He promises, and now his fingers are at the straps of your flimsy bralette, tugging them down your shoulders but not all the way off, not yet, and his eyes darken just a shade more when he looks down at you.

“I like this.” And his voice is a little hoarse as one big hand comes up to cover your breast, just resting lightly, thumb rubbing over the nearly transparent bralette. “I like that I can _almost_ see all of you, but not quite and I wonder if I were to--”

He lowers his head, and you have just a quick view of his lips parting and his tongue before _oh_ he is drawing you into his mouth through the thin lace, _pulling_ at you, and you barely have time to get used to it before he pulls away to stare, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, and he traces a circle over you, avoiding where you _really_ want him to touch. “Yes, I thought this would be transparent if I could just _get it wet_ .” And _that,_ those words are enough to make you squirm on the couch, not able to rub your thighs together because he is kneeling between them which is _perfect_ if he would only keep going.

“Loki.” You whimper and his eyes are instantly on you, widening, dilating, as he bites his lip and you want to _cheer_ because of how much control you have over him just by _saying his name. “Hurry.”_

“Yes, darling.” He says a little breathlessly. “I know, I _know,_ but a little wait can make it even _better_ , can't it?”

But he unhooks the front clasp, and drops it on the floor and you _love_ the way his breath catches every time he sees you naked, so you stretch a little, offering yourself to him. “I won't leave you wanting, pet.” He soothes you, and then he is drawing circles over you with his tongue and blowing softly to dry your skin, and nipping and pulling at you until you are tempted to force his head down just so he would _stop fucking teasing you_ but he is switching sides, not wanting to neglect a single inch of you, and his _mouth_ when he finally takes you in, seals around you in _hot and wet_ and heat starts pooling low inside you, so you shift your hips anxiously until he notices, and slides one hand down between your legs to feel you and you want to cry out because the touch is _so good_ but it near enough.

“ _Loki.”_ You say again, and this time it's a little strained and your _swear_ he laughs a little against your skin and briefly consider kneeing him, but that would rather ruin the moment wouldn't it?

But he listens and moves _lower,_ light touches over your ribs and stomach which is looking _great,_ because you've lost nearly ten pounds to prepare for the wedding, and the soft little groan he makes as he moves over you makes it entirely worth it.

His thumbs trace over your hip bones and he looks up at you as if he wants to say something but just smiles instead and scoots backwards until he's not even on the couch any more, just kneeling on the floor, leaning forward into your body and first he just _breathes_ over you, a long sigh that has you tensing and then just the barest touch, then a little more and even that has you scratching at the couch, canting your hips to get closer to him.

“Patience.” He murmurs, “You are so lovely here, you can't blame me for wanting to look, to admire you.” And _damn it_ what could you possibly say in response to _that?_

“Let me lift you like this, kitten, just like this.” And he slides an arm under your hips, lifting you closer to his mouth, closer to his tongue and then he _finally finally_ touches you, his tongue gliding through your soft folds up to where you _really_ want him, but he stops just short and then _oh I really_ **_might_ ** _kick him_ you think, but just bite your tongue and _wait_ because even though he likes to tease, he's never _not_ taken care of you.

A deep breath for you, then, because _yes yes yes_ he is touching you again, using his tongue to open you up, licking and lapping at you, kissing and mouthing against your skin, and then _fuck oh fuck_ his thumb brushes against your clit, lightly first, then again, harder this time and when your whole body jerks he groans and lifts up enough to seal his lips around it and _pulls_ and you are pushing his head farther into you without even realizing it.

But he doesn't pull away _no,_ he lets up just enough to lick at you several times before going right back to that perfect spot, pushing at your legs to open you up even farther beneath him, humming contentedly around you until you shriek a little, even running his fingers over your hand to encourage you to grab his hair, so you _do,_ and roll your hips against his face.

You're spiraling quickly now, up and up and _up_ and then he's pressing two fingers inside you, because you like the sudden stretch, the slight burn, from being opened so quickly and that sends you up even further. And you're panting, gasping, staring down at all that dark hair and that gorgeous man buried between your legs and he looks up then, just enough to catch your eye, and he looks... _awestruck_ , and you think _maybe he looks like he loves you_ but you can't concentrate on that, not when his mouth is working like that, not when his tongue is twisting and curling around you and _certainly_ not when the fingers pumping inside you brush over and _down_ against a place so deep you are suddenly _writhing and shaking,_ and he pulls away just enough to beg you “Say my name darling, say my name and come for me, let me taste you” and _yes yes yes LOKI_ you are coming then, crying his name, holding him tight against you, and he is still licking and stroking you, pushing you through your orgasm, holding you up as pleasure rocks your core.

Then he is bringing you back down with slower touches, light kisses, easing you back to yourself, soothing strokes up and down your sides when you start shaking, waiting until you are trying to wriggle away before taking his fingers from you, gliding up your body to kiss your forehead and cheek and finally your lips when you turn your head to him.

And _you can taste yourself_ on his lips, and instead of being grossed out like maybe a _teeny_ part of you thought you would be, you open your mouth to deepen the kiss and he just sighs happily against you, and reaches for a blanket as the adrenaline wears off and you start to shake.

“That was lovely.” He whispers into your hair. “You are gorgeous darling, absolute perfection when you come apart like that.” He shifts so you are lying side by side, pulled close against his chest. “Just perfect.”

You really wish you could say something clever and witty but you're _exhausted_ and frankly your brain isn't nearly back online yet, so you pat his chest and mumble, “You get a first place ribbon tailor-man.”

And you can feel him laughing, but he just holds you closer and it's… perfect.

Except _OH!_ You pull away and glance down in alarm and he asks worriedly “What is it, sweetheart?”

And honestly there isn't a polite way to say _you haven't come yet you gorgeous British god_ so you just clear your throat and rock against him and he hisses, his eyes snapping shut, but then he swallows hard and shakes his head.

“This was for you, tonight. I can wait.”

“You want to wait?” You reply and he leans forward to kiss you.

“I didn't say I _wanted_ to, but that I _can,_ because the chance to just bring _you_ pleasure is one I can't refuse. And you're tired darling. I can tell.” He isn't being mean about it, and he's certainly not lying, because you were exhausted when you showed up and are just _wrecked_ now but still…

“No, sweetheart.” He tucks you close against his body again. “Worth waiting for a night when you are well rested and will enjoy everything.” Then he hesitates, running his fingers through your hair carefully. “I was wondering, or rather hoping-- That is to say, I know you are very busy with the wedding, I know it's only a month away and as maid of honor you simply have no free room on your calendar, but I was hoping..” he clears his throat and you realize that he is _nervous_ to ask whatever it is he wants to ask, and _that_ freaks you out because what could he _possibly_ be nervous about. “I would like you to spend the night with me.” He says, finally. “At my house. It's nothing overly grand but it's right at the beach, right on the water and I think you would like it. I realize that spending the night together might be quite a step for us, but moments like this--” he presses a kiss to your head. “--when we are together like this, I hate it when you leave me. I would like very much to be able to fall asleep next to you, and make you breakfast in the morning. And shower together and drink our tea and just be a _couple,_ instead of two people who occasionally eat together and have to wait to sneak in a few moments in each other's arms.”

You are quiet for a few minutes and so is he, waiting for your answer.

“I can't.” You say finally, and you can _feel_ him tense against you so you hasten to finish, “I can't drink tea. You will have to buy coffee.”

“I can do that.” He assures you with so much _relief_ in his voice.

“Alyssa and her mother are leaving for one last mother daughter trip the next weekend. I'm pretty busy until then, but we should still be able to at least get a few lunch dates in. And I can stay the night they are gone… with you, I mean. It will be two weeks before the wedding so it will be the only time before the big day.” You're mind is racing, trying to figure out what you would need to do so you could leave for a night without anyone asking too many questions.

“Thank you. I promise I will sweep you off your feet. It will be a night you won't forget.” He rolls over on top of you to kiss you, and you smile against his lips because _he's still hard_ and that just thrills you.

“Are you sure you don't want--” you rock against him and he shakes his head.

“No darling, I can wait until you are well rested, and relaxed and trapped in my house for a weekend before having my way with you.”

“Creepy.” You say, eyes wide and he just laughs before kissing you again.

“The beauty of an accent like mine, pet, is that nothing sounds creepy, everything is simply  romantic.”

“I hate that that's true.” You retort, but wrap your arms around him and kiss him anyway.

***********************

“Are you listening?” Alyssa snaps and you jump back to attention.

“Sorry, Lys.” you say apologetically. “My mind just wandered for a bit.”

“Well _look_ , then.” she says with a huff and you paste a smile on your face and try to look completely engaged as she models different tiaras and head pieces to wear for the wedding. “I love the idea of a tiara, because who doesn't? But I think maybe something with flowers or feathers…”

You zone back out after less than a minute because even though you are her maid of honor you could not give _two fucks_ about whether or not she is looking at feathers, because you know without even looking that she's going to pick the overly sparkly, several inches tall, intricately woven tiara, because Alyssa is a _sparkly_ kind of girl. And you feel a little guilty because you are her _maid of honor_ but all you can think about right now, is when you woke up this morning and realized your hadn't gotten your cycle yet, and you are _late late late._

And you’ve been talking yourself out of a panic attack, because you have always been a little irregular, and really a few weeks late isn’t anything to freak out about, except this is the first time in your life you’ve been late after having regular _mind numbing_ sex dress fittings with Loki for nearly two months now. Yes, you are on birth control but it isn’t like birth control is _fool proof,_ and _no_ you hadn't told Loki to use protection, even when he asked, you had assured him it was fine, but _jesus christ_ you can't be preg _nope_ , not even going to think it because it _wasn't_ true.

But you’re very nearly sick to your stomach with worry and terrified because _what the fuck are you going to do?_

It's been five days since you’ve seen him. Your regular lunch date had been cancelled when Alyssa had panicked because her usual pedicure place was closed, so you had driven with her to one almost an hour away because they used the correct all natural products she swore by. He had assured you he understood, reminded you that he was very much looking forward to the following weekend when you would come and stay with him, and that he rather _hoped_ to see you sometime before then, but of course he understood you had to be there for Alyssa.

You had wanted to laugh it off and say something teasing about looking forward to it as well, you had wanted to swoon at the way he always said your name, but you had just rubbed your hand over your stomach and tried it to cry and said goodbye.

And now you can't focus on anything, not how cute your toes looked because apparently all natural products _really are_ the way to go, not at the _ridiculous_ feather contraption Alyssa was balancing on her head that more than slightly resembled a freaked out pigeon, and certainly not how much you _had been_ looking forward to your weekend with him.

And the absolute worst thing is, you just want to _see_ him, curl up next to him and let him comfort you in that deep voice. Because you know he would be _wonderful_ and soothing and _perfect._ But how do you call your _sort of_ boyfriend and ask him to let you cry on him because you’re terrified of being preg - _NOPE_ . _Not thinking it._

“Alyssa.” you say then, sweetly and a little urgently, because she looks like she is about to flip out. “Honey look.” You grab the biggest tiara on the table and arrange it on her head carefully. “This is the perfect one for you. You are made for big sparkly things, and I know it will be the best look, ok? I've known you your whole life, and even when we played dress up you always took the biggest crown and this is _your_ day so wear the big tiara! Forget the bird thing, and yes flowers are cute but aren't they more for virgin brides, not brides who have also slept with half the groomsmen?”

You teasing, _of course you are_ , because you love her and could care less that before she met Bobby she was basically sleeping her way through most of her brother fraternity. It didn't matter at all because she was still one of the best people you'd ever known.

So _of course_ you are teasing. But then her eyes actual fill with tears and you wipe them away, panicking. “Lys honey what's wrong? I was joking, you know I was joking right? Do you want the feathers? Or the flowers, because that's fine, sweetie. Please don't cry, we've joked about this a thousand times! You know I don't _actually_ think you're like that, right?”

“I just didn't know planning a wedding would be so difficult.” she explains in a shaky voice. “And I know this hasn't been easy on you, I’ve been a total Bridezilla but thank you so much for putting up with me. I mean honestly, decisions like picking out tiaras has me freaking out! And the other day when my pedicure place was closed and you were so sweet to drive me to the other. I couldn't do this without you and I feel so bad for ruining your whole summer with my mood swings!!! And you're right, flowers are a terrible idea because I _have_ slept with most of the groomsmen and--””

“Ah cousin, that's enough of that.” you wrap your arms around her tightly and let her cry into your shoulder. “Nobody cares who anyone was with before you and Bobby because the two of your are perfect together. And I'll slap the _shit_ out of anyone who says otherwise. And the Bridezilla thing--You haven't really been all that bad. Honestly you haven't. It's getting close now, I know, just a couple weeks, and of _course_ it's stressful. I can't imagine putting together a wedding this big, but you're doing wonder--”

“Oh _no_!” she wails, interrupting you. “I have to pick up the other three bridesmaid dresses from Loki so the girls have them when they fly in tomorrow morning!”

“Hey. You know what? I got it.” you comfort her quickly. “I can go pick them up. Seriously, it's not a problem. Let's buy this tiara, get you home and into a bubble bath and on my home from the tailors I will pick up some wine and you and I can just relax all night?”

She cries again then, because she thinks you are _wonderful_ and you feel the littlest bit guilty for wanting to help _mostly_ because it will give you a chance to see Loki, but you’re going to take it anyway, because the bride isn't the only one needing a cry and a (non alcoholic) drink. So you help her to the car with the giant tiara, ask her which kind of wine she wants you to bring, and promise to be home with the dresses in a few hours. She kisses your cheek and thanks you again before driving off.

*******************

“Sweetheart, I was just going to call you.” Loki is pleased to see you, putting his paperwork down and coming around the desk to pull you close. “I missed you this week.” he cups your jaw and brings your mouths together for a long kiss, and you can't help holding him tight, kissing him back almost desperately. “Settle, kitten.” he murmurs against your lips. “No need to rush, we can spend hours together if you'd like.” He sits back on his desk and pulls you between his legs and wraps long arms around your waist. “Did you get everything with Alyssa taken care of? You seemed stressed when we talked on the phone.”

“Alyssa’s fine.” you mumble into his shoulder. “Finally realized today that she is pushing the line of insanity, so I sent her home for a bath to destress.”

“And what brought her insanity on this time?”

And you breathe a quiet laugh. “Um, she wanted to wear feathers in her hair. Or flowers. And I told her no to the flowers because only girls who haven't slept with half a frat house should wear flowers and she cried.”

“That seems… like a terrible thing for a maid of honor to say.” He says cautiously and you laugh louder.

“I was _joking_ , and if she wasn't crazy she would have laughed because it's a conversation we've had several times. Besides, I _knew_ she wanted the tiara so I wasn't going to let her leave with a May Day crown.  And then she absolutely freaked out and cried and apologized for how crazy she is so I sent her home to take a bath and de-stress.”

“And you came straight here?” he teased, “to destress, that is? I like the choices you make, kitten, even if you are simply using me to combat a Bridezilla induced stress attack.”

“We have three bridesmaids coming in tomorrow, actually, and I need to pick up their dresses.” you say snippishly. “Only reason I am here.”

“I'm wounded!” he exclaims, but pushes you away lightly so he can go find the three outfits. “Here I was hoping you had simply missed my presence, and couldn't stay away longer but that's not the case at all, is it?”

“Imagine that,” you reply with a shrug. “Me visiting a tailor because I actually have things to pick up. Shocking.”

He laughs over his shoulder at you and says something about “that delightful bit of sassy” you seem to constantly carry around with you.

While he is searching for the dresses in the back room, you sit down on the little stage in front of the mirrors and drop you face into your hands, because the _worry_ is still eating away at you and you hate it. And you’re very nearly close to tears because he is _so happy_ to see you, and is acting completely normal and this somehow makes everything _worse_ because he just has no idea that a simple test could ruin things between you forever, and _oh god_ you are absolutely going to cry now.

“Oh no. No no. What is it, darling? Why do you look so upset?” he crouches in front of you worriedly, running his hands down your arms. “Is it because I said you were sassy? I wasn't trying to demean you, kitten, I am always delighted by--”

“Stop.” you say and try to laugh because _he’s fucking adorable,_ but it doesn't come out quite right, and he frowns.

“Right then. Why don't you step to the bathroom and splash a little water on your face, and I will make you some tea and then we can talk about whatever it is that's bothering you, because it makes me sad to see you like this. I much prefer you laughing...and sassy.” He tips your jaw up so he he can smile at you and you try to return it.

“Do you have any coffee, instead of tea?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“Sorry, darling, no coffee, but I have a bit of bourbon to lace it with, if that will make it more palatable.”

“Bourbons good.” you say, and feel a _wash of guilt because what IF,_ but you know a few sips won't hurt, so you get up and run to the bathroom while he goes for tea.

But while using the bathroom, half way to hysterical because you didn't _really_ need to use the bathroom and _oh fuck_ isn't increased urination a symptom of pregnancy??, _oh_ you notice _blood_ and promptly burst into tears because _thank god thank god thank god_ and you’re so relieved you can't even be angry that your period basically ruined what was your favorite pair of underwear.

You just ball them up and throw them in the trash and dig in your purse for supplies because you are a practical girl and are _always prepared_ . But you’re still _so_ emotional and when you come back out to the large fitting room, there are still tears falling down your face, and Loki is immediately leading you to a chair and pressing a hot cup of tea into your hands.

“Please tell me what's wrong, sweetheart.” he pleads, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I can't quite handle you being this upset and not knowing what I can do to help.” he unscrews the bourbon and adds a few drops to your tea. “Tell me, my love.”

“I got my period.” you hiccup, and think that _maybe_ there was a more polite way to say that, but it's out there now and you don't care enough to take it back and apologize.

“Ah.” to his credit, he didn't even look uncomfortable, just rubbed your legs comfortingly. “And we are distressed...why? Or is it simply the hormones? I can't say I understand, but I do have sisters so--”

“I thought I was pregnant!” you blurt out. “And I'm _not pregnant_ and I'm so relieved I can't stop crying about it! So yes, maybe hormones, maybe just the stress from the last 24 hours of fucking _panicking_. I don't know. But I'm crying, so there it is.” And you put your head back in your hands and cry a little bit more.

To his credit, he doesn't say anything, not about the announcement that you _thought_ you were pregnant, not about the impressive mood swings you are accomplishing at the moment, _no_ he's _perfect_ , so he just takes the cup from your hands and hands you the bourbon instead. “Cheers.” you say with a little laugh, and he nods before taking a large drink of the tea and settling onto the floor by your feet to wait until you're ready to talk again.

After several minutes and several swallows of the alcohol, you look down at him and ask, “What _would_ you have done, if I had come here and told you I was pregnant?”

“Asked for a picture of the ultrasound to put on my desk.” he answered without even hesitating, without even thinking about it and you just stare at him, just _stunned_.

“You’re serious. You're actually… you would have just...asked for an ultrasound picture. For your desk.”

“Of course I'm serious, darling. It _had_ occurred to me, at some point, what might happen considering we are _really_ not careful at all, and I already thought about it to some length, and came to a decision about what my reaction would be.” he looks up at you then, and you _swear_ he’s trying to tell you _I love you,_ so you bend down and kiss him so he knows how you feel too. “Of course I can't say I'm not the smallest bit disappointed that you are in...such a delicate condition right now,” he admits and you raise an eyebrow. “But if you are relieved to um, _receive_ your monthly cycle, then I will be too.” He smiles and raises his cup in a salute.

“Why are you disappointed I got my, I mean that I'm in such a _condition_?” you switch him for the tea cup again, sipping quickly at the warm liquid.

“I heard this expression a while back,” he said thoughtfully. “Rather vulgar, but even Brits have vulgar expressions so I can't blame this solely on Americans I suppose. Anyway, I heard this phrase spoken about a woman who I suppose would be considered unconventionally beautiful even though she wasn't exactly my type. And a man said to his friend, and I can't believe they said this in public, but--”

“You’re rambling.” you say with an exasperated look. “Literally saying entire sentences that aren't actually saying _anything at all_.”

He grins up at you. “Sorry, pet. I suppose what I mean to say, is after our last lovely encounter,” you wiggle a little on your seat because _yummo_ about your last night together. “After our last _lovely_ encounter, I think I understand what these men were saying, and why they were saying it about that woman.”

“And what were they saying that you agree with suddenly, because of me?” you ask, leaning forward, because you already _know_ he is going to say something wonderfully romantic and you are very nearly ready to shout that you _love him_ at the top of your lungs.

“I would rather like to wear you like a hockey mask, my dear.” he says mildly, and you spit tea and bourbon all over the carpet as he starts laughing.

Alyssa leaves with her mother Friday afternoon, handing you a list of everything she needs done now that all of the bridesmaids have showed up. You kiss her and your aunt goodbye, promise to get everything done, and steel yourself for a night surrounded by eight other women who all went to college together, roomed in their sorority house together, and have been in all of each other's weddings.

And then there's you, who got bitched at yesterday because you called Bethany-Lynn “Beth” and spelled Aimee’s name incorrectly on a reservation. Yeah, life in the house was fun.

So you spend Friday making sure all the deposits had been received and receipts gathered for reception, making grocery lists for the next week since every single girl needed different foods for their made up intolerances _insert an eye roll here_ and then spend most of the Saturday doing the shopping and making sure that you have the itineraries for the groomsmen were all in order because they would start arriving on Tuesday.

Really you don't have to do all this work, but it's easier on everyone if you do, easier as the maid of honor to simply do everything so Alyssa doesn't pop a blood vessel from the stress. Honestly it's the least you can do since she is letting you use her car, and live rent free all summer and paying for all the pretty dresses Loki has been designing and making for you.

Like this one.

You look down at the lovely silk wrap dress with a delicate cherry blossom pattern and grin. This is _definitely_ what you were wearing tonight. Wrap dresses equals easy access and that was _entirely_ what you were going for.

**< From: My Hot Tailor>**

\-- _sweetheart I just wanted to double check what time you were going to come over. And to assure you that if you are still feeling indisposed, know that I am content to simply lie next to you all night, and wake up next to you tomorrow morning, I will not be disappointed at all. No pressure at all kitten, I just want to see you._

< **To: My Hot Tailor >**

_\--I should be done with everything and heading your way around six thirty, seven at the latest._

< **From: My Hot Tailor >**

\-- _perfect, that sounds wonderful, I'll have wine waiting for you_

**< To: My Hot Tailor>**

_\--also, i'm not ‘indisposed’ anymore. We are good to go_

< **From: My Hot Tailor >**

_\--oh thank god darling. Can't wait to see you_

*************************

Before you can even ring the doorbell, Loki is opening the door and drawing you into his arms for a heated kiss, framing your face with his hands and plundering your mouth with his tongue.

“I'm so happy you are here.” He lifts his head just enough to murmur before taking your lips again, pulling you further into his house, kicking the door shut behind you. “So happy.” He is already playing with the sash of your dress, untying it with deft fingers and pushing it open to wrap his hands around your waist. “Darling why didn't you come over earlier? Why did we have to wait all day?” He is moving down your neck now, his hands dropping low to grip your ass and the groan he makes is really more of a growl when he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist. “Do you want a tour of the house? I do think you”ll love it.” He asks, nipping at your bottom lip, teasing your mouth open again with his tongue as he carries you through the house, stopping only long enough to open a door, then slam it behind you.

“ _Loki!_ ” You finally manage to get a word in edgewise, laughing as he lays you out on a big bed, licking and biting his way down your body as he strips his belt and opens his pants.

“Yes, darling?” He asks absentmindedly, but you're not talking anymore because he's grabbed a small bottle of lube and is sliding a condom on before climbing on the bed over you and plunging into you in one long, hard thrust.

 _“_ Oh _fuck.”_ He groans in that perfect posh voice, and it's the first time you've ever heard him swear like _that_ and it's just _amazing,_ because he never does, not when he's first inside you, _no_ he always acts like it's a privilege to be between your legs, but not now, _no_ he's almost _vicious_ now and _you fucking love it._ Then he's lifting your legs to his shoulders and diving inside you, in and out in a brutal rhythm that has you reaching up to hold onto the headboard so you don't bang into it, and he's panting and cursing, trying to kiss you but barely able to manage it, so he is just hovering over your mouth, breathing hard, pushing into you until you're nearly bent double to get as deep as he can get and it _almost hurts_ but you can't even care because you _love him_ almost out of control like this.

“You'll have to help, darling.” He says then, in a gorgeous hoarse voice and you nod because you _get it,_ and slide your hand down to work yourself until you're right on the edge and he's telling you to “Come darling, want you to come with me, please oh _please_ I can't wait, _I can't.”_ And it takes less than a minute then before you're tightening your legs around him, trying not to scream, but it doesn't matter because _he's_ _coming too_ , buried to the hilt inside you, emptying himself with a shout as he finds his release.

And when he leans over you, sweating, groaning, trembling, you push his hair back from his eyes until he looks up and is _so satisfied with himself_ that you grin up at him.

“So, this is the master bedroom, is it?” You ask, and he bursts into laughter, dragging himself up your body to lay a bruising kiss on your lips, and easing away to collapse on the bed next to you.

“Yes, lovely isn't it?” He replies through a chuckle and reaches for your hand to kiss your fingers. “I missed you darling. It's been far too long.”

“Yeah, that was-- that was _nice_.”

He laughs again and kisses you one more time before sitting up.

“I actually _do_ have a glass of wine waiting for you, if you'd like one. In the kitchen, which I realize I probably should have shown you first, rather than nearly mauling you on my doorstep.”

“Oh I don't know.” You say, retying your dress carefully. “It would be weird to eat breakfast tomorrow morning on the same table you ravished me on tonight.”

“Ravished, is that what we are calling it?” He asked teasingly, pulling his pants back up and searching for his belt. “Yes, I suppose I rather jumped you, didn't I? I'll admit I was planning on doing that regardless of which room we ended up in first. Kitchen, dining room, bedroom, it really wouldn't have mattered, darling.”

“Not complaining.” You run your hands up his chest to his hair to tug him down for a kiss and his eyes are so soft and warm when he looks at you that you do it again.

“I'm so glad you're here.” He says, pressing your hand over his heart, then laces your fingers together and leads you downstairs.

************

He kisses you while you are sitting on his deck, staring out over the water as it changes color with the sunset. He has asked you how the wedding planning was going, and when you try to answer, he bends down and brushes over your mouth in a sweet little touch.

And when he slips inside to open another bottle of wine, first he cups your jaw, tracing your lips with his thumb before leaning in to taste you for a long moment.

He likes your dress, is pleased that you let him make it for you, more pleased that you wore it just for him. He unties it again just to plant little kisses over your breasts, to run his fingers over your soft skin and to whisper how sexy it is that you had come over without any panties on, then reties it with a little smile and a promise of _later._

When the sun goes down and it's too chilly to sit outside any longer, he starts a fire and scatters pillows around the floor so you are comfortable before cutting up a bowl of fruit and bringing more wine.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” You ask, pretending to be scandalized, but you take the wine anyway, and he reaches for a slice of peach, biting into it carefully, slurping a little as juice runs down his mouth.

“ _Are_ you drunk, darling?” He replies, and takes another bite and you lick your lips when he licks his. “Because it wasn't my intention at all, but are you looking delightfully rumpled and relaxed and I do love that look on you.” He picks up another piece of fruit and offers it to you. “Would you like a bite, kitten?” He leans close, holding it to your lips, so you open slowly, letting your tongue curl around his fingers before pulling away to swallow. “Bad girl, you've made a mess.” He holds his hand up so you can see the juice glistening there, so you open your mouth again, drawing his fingers in to suck and nibble all over them, licking broad stripes across his palm and when you lean back his mouth is hanging open and his breath is coming harder, so he grabs another piece and moves closer to you. “And another, would you like another?” He takes the first bite, then feeds you the other half and sucks the juice from your bottom lip before you can wipe it away.

Later, when the wine is gone and you are well and tipsy, he lays you out in front of the fire, stripping you slowly and worshipping every inch of you with his mouth. Then he disrobes, and this time he wants to feel all of you, so there is nothing between your bodies, just _hot_ and _wet_ and _god so full_ as he thrusts inside of you.

“Open darling.” He whispers, and feeds you tiny bites of peaches, licking into your mouth to get every sweet drop of juice before giving you more. He is moving above you, into you, slow and easy, until you're anxious for more, so he rolls over, bringing you on top, and you plant your hands on his lean chest, rolling your hips until he's hitting you _just right,_ and he's running his hands up and over your body, urging you on, wrapping long fingers around your neck because he loves the way you gasp and scratch at him, even though you _know_ he's not going to hurt you.

You lace your hands together and bring them between your legs to touch you, leaving his there once he knows what you want, and _oh_ now it's _good_ and you're taking him faster, deeper until you're _so close_ so he flips you back over and drives into you _hard_ until you cry his name and his back is bowing under the force of his orgasm as he grinds down into your soft body.

His bed is comfortable, so comfortable, as he lays down behind you, drawing you against his chest and kissing you goodnight, telling you again how happy he is to be right here with you, and how he can't wait to sleep next to you all night and _God you love him so much_

But you don't say it, _no,_ you just snuggle closer and sigh happily and close your eyes because this might be the most perfect moment of your life.

*****************

Before Loki makes you breakfast, he has you in the shower, crowding you up against the wall, tugging your hair to make your back arch as he takes you from behind. He encourages you to scream, to shout his name because it's _so much louder_ in his bathroom and he _loves it._

Then he washes you, slowly, carefully, with scented soap he bought specifically for sharing a shower with you, and you stand up on tiptoes to wash his hair, and laugh out loud when he warns you that it really curls quite ridiculously if he doesn't brush it straight and put a little product in it, and you should look away because he doesn't look _near_ as sophisticated with ringlets.

There are more peaches and fruit on the table to go with the he scramble he makes you, and he has a juicer so he makes you fresh juice and you watch everything with a smile on your face as you lick peach juice from your fingers.

“Darling little minx.” He says with a grin and leans close to rub noses with you as he hands you your plate.

***********

It's time for you to leave, because Alyssa will be back in a few hours and you want to be home when she is.

He walks you to your car and pins you against it to kiss you goodbye, his fingers in your hair destroying your cute hairstyle, hips rocking against you because he _wants you again already_ and you have to laugh and push him away, telling him his driveway is much too public of a place to do this, and that his tall ass wouldn't fit in the backseat of your car to try it that way, so he sighs as if he is terribly put out, and hugs you close for a long minute before telling you to hurry then, before he drags you back inside.

“This has been perfect.” He whispers, touching your foreheads together. “Thank you, for this, darling. I'm honestly not sure if I've ever been happier.”

“Me either.”

****************

It's rehearsal dinner time, and you smooth your dress down nervously. Loki had created amazing coordinated dresses for all eight bridesmaids in varying shades of blue, one slightly fancier for you because you are the maid of honor, and one that made your jaw just _drop_ when Alyssa swept out the door wearing it. Her fiancée had howled like a wolf when she came down the stairs and all his frat brothers whistled and cat called until she just rolled her eyes and told them all to _fuck off_.

Moments like that is when you remember exactly why you love your cousin. Underneath the sparkles and expensive outfits is that little girl who beat the ever loving _shit_ out of a boy when you were nine because he threw rocks at you.

“Alyssa.” You kiss her cheek and hand her your present, which is a smaller version of her wedding tiara, with blue stones mixed in with the white so it matches her dress. And when she cries, you shush her and pat her cheeks to make sure her makeup doesn't run and tell her to just put it on, because tonight starts the most important few days of her life and she shouldn't be crying at all.

And if the other girls send you snide looks because they hadn't thought to get her a gift, well they can _suck it._

You are feeling wonderful tonight, still coming down from the high of your time with Loki, topped off by last night when you'd gone to pick up Alyssa's gown, and he had asked you to just sit with him while he finished some billing before he got the dress for you. So you had sat on his lap, and he had rubbed circles into your back, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and told you how happy he was to just be close to you, that little moments like this might be his favorite, and that he couldn't wait to see you in your dress.

Yes, _this_ dress, the amazing gown you had tried on so many weeks ago, in that insane shade of blue. It was tailored to perfection, wrapping around your curves and trailing the floor behind you and you felt like a fucking _princess._

The boys had cat called you too, but Alyssa had screeched _something_ about tearing them apart if they didn't stop acting like _fucking fourteen year olds_ and you had laughed and kissed her all again.

Loki finally walks in to the dinner, and Alyssa jumps to her feet to greet him and you smile, watching him turn on _all that charm,_ turning her in a circle to admire how the gown turned out, lavishing compliment after compliment on her, and then the bridesmaids in turn as they stood up to show off. But when his eyes catch yours, you can see him swallow, see his fists clench, watch him bite his lip as he tries to still pay attention to whatever one of the girls was saying to him.

So you do a little curtsy, because _god_ your time with him as given you _so much confidence_ and do a little turn so he can see all of you, then wave and go right back to talking with your aunt and uncle, who haven't stopped thanking you for all your help, all your patience with Alyssa, and insisting that you come back after you graduate to visit, or even move, because your uncle is determined to give you a job because he always needs more employees with master's degrees

You just smile and nod like the thought of moving here permanently hasn't kept you up at night for _weeks_ now.

The dinner is going perfectly, dessert is being served so you excuse yourself to the ladies room, which in this fancy hotel is really more of a living room with private bathrooms around the corner.

You don't usually wear makeup, but you have tonight to you are trying to reapply a little to keep it fresh, when the door opens and then clicks and locks shut.

“Oh.” You smile into the mirror when Loki comes in behind you. “Excuse me, sir, this is the ladies room. You need to leave.”

“Not with you looking like this, darling.” He replies with a grin of his own, and you lean back against him when he slides his arms around your waist. “I'm rather tempted to bend you over this sink and take you in front of this mirror. We haven't tried that yet, have we?”

You stifle a moan at the thought and he nibbles on your shoulder just lightly.

“Actually darling, as tempting as that is, I have some bad news. I have to leave, rather suddenly, it seems my gram has passed away and my family wants me home for the funeral.”

“I'm so sorry.” You turn in his arms to give him a proper hug and he kisses your head. “Of course you to go. Were you close to her?”

“Yes, I was rather close to her.” He admits. “So I am flying out very early tomorrow morning, won't make the wedding. Alyssa is devastated but I'm infinitely more concerned with how you feel. I have to leave now, really, still need to pack and all that, and I find myself reluctant to leave you. Rather wish you could come with me, darling, if only to hold my hand.” He stares down at you, green eyes filled with so much pain you have a hard time not wanting to cry for him. “I can't quite believe she's gone yet, but I'm sure it will sink in soon, and I imagine that will be all the worse then.”

“I'm sorry.” You say again and pull him tighter. “I'm so sorry, I wish I had something better to say.” But you don't, so you just hold and he holds you as if he's terrified to let go, and your heart breaks because _he doesn't even know yet._

“But,” you clear your throat and lean back to look up at him, “you know, I will be too busy with Alyssa and the wedding to even notice you gone tomorrow. I'll have bridesmaids to corral and groomsmen to wrangle so I wouldn't have had time for you anyway.” You are teasing, of course, and he smiles just a little. “Of course I'll miss you,” you sigh,  “but it will be fine. You need to go. You absolutely do. _Go.”_

“I'll be back Monday, then.” He says, straightening your necklace where it lies between your breasts, letting his fingers rest against you for just a second. “Monday evening at the latest, I'll call you when I get in?”

“Of course.” You nod quickly and he draws you in for  long, slow kiss, holding you close for a long time.

“Bye, then, darling. Till Monday.”

“Travel safe.” You whisper, and he is gone, unlocking the door and slipping out after making sure no one is looking.

You rejoin the party a few minutes later, and he is already gone so you go to comfort an upset looking Alyssa.

“Sweetie.” You say patiently. “You won't even notice a single guest is missing from your wedding. Don't worry about this, don't let it ruin your night.”

“But I wanted him to see me in my dress! He worked on it for an entire _year!!_ ” She whines.

“Isn't it more important that _Bobby_ sees you in your dress?” You counter, and she nods, brightening suddenly and you think _maybe a mood stabilizer in her next glass of champagne_ then kick yourself for thinking it. Even if the idea is the _tiniest_ bit appealing for like a split second.

“Yes. It is, you're right. Oh, seriously what would I do without you!”

“Dissolve into a pile of runny makeup and ruined silk, I imagine.” You say with a short laugh, patting her cheeks dry with your hankie.

“I wish you were staying.” She says, taking a calming sip of champagne. “It sucks you're leaving Sunday morning.”

“Yeah.” You try to smile and act as if you hadn't just been sobbing in the bathroom over that exact thing. “Sunday.”

****************

You barely remember the wedding. It goes by in a rush of fancy dresses and tuxedos and too much champagne and happy tears as your oldest friend ties the knot.

And next thing you know you are sitting on the plane home Sunday morning, crying into your coffee as Taylor Swift's best breakup songs crank through your headphones.

*****************

*****************

_Two overly-emotional, emo-music driven and ice cream fueled weeks later_

*****************

“Hello?” You slide down your counters to sit on the kitchen floor when you answer the phone and know Loki is on the other end. He had called that first Monday and you had asked him to give you some time before abruptly hanging up. Then early this morning you had texted him that maybe it had been enough time, if he still wanted to talk. And then you'd waited by your phone all day until dark, when he finally called.

“Hello, then, darling.” He says softly, so softly it almost hurts you to hear it.

“I'm sorry.” You whisper next and he sighs.

“Nothing to be sorry for, pet, I should have asked you when you were leaving. In all the weeks we were together I never once asked that and that is my fault. You can't help that you had to leave Sunday.”

“It's really not you're fault.” You argue, and is he _seriously apologizing after_ **_you_ ** _ran out on him?_ “I just-- freaked out. I mean, when you said you had to leave, I already had this goodbye speech prepared to give you Sunday morning and I wasn't ready to say it all Thursday night so I just… didn't. And the I thought it might be easier this way.”

“Is it?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“No this is pretty shitty. This has been the worst two weeks ever.”

“I would have to agree with that.” He was quiet for a moment and you shift uncomfortably on the hard floor. “Well do you want to tell me now? This goodbye speech of yours? It might bring us both some closure.” He finally said. “Is it… easier to talk about this over the phone?”

“I guess it's easier over the phone, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.” You say and he sighs on the other end. “The problem is--the problem is that once I knew you weren't going to be there on Sunday I started thinking maybe good byes would be easier without actually _being_ good byes. I was afraid that we would stand there and say good bye and you would tell me… you'd tell me that you loved me. Or-or worse that you _wouldn't_ say it. And honestly I'm terrified of either one. So I just ran away.” You held the phone tight against your ear after spilling _that_ little gem and waited for him to answer.

“But we _are_ in love, aren't we, darling? Have been nearly all summer, haven't we?” He doesn't even hesitate when he asks, and really it's more of a statement as if you shouldn't be completely _floored_ to hear those words from him.

And your head _thunks_ back against the cupboard as you blink back tears. “Yeah. We are.” _Fuck I love him._

“And I suppose I understand why that idea is terrifying.” Except you can tell he _absolutely_ doesn't understand why it's terrifying to love someone after a few months. He _honestly_ doesn't see why you are scared. And for whatever reason, that makes you love him just a little bit more.

“Maybe it's not terrifying for _you_ , with your ridiculous accent and silk shirts and way of batting those big green eyes.” You retort. “But you know, infinitely more terrifying for me, who wears the same jeans every day, and is just trying to survive through one last semester of school, and has never had a relationship last longer than a couple weeks. Oh and add the fact that I'm so awkward and clumsy that I _literally_ kicked you one time when you were trying to seduce me. Yeah, this whole thing is slightly scary for me.”

“Was I only _trying_ to seduce you?” He asks, and you want to roll your eyes because _of course that's what he picks up on_ but his voice drops a little when he says it and _fuck_ you hate how _even over a fucking phone_ it makes you wet. “I rather think it worked, pet.”

“Yeah. Every time.” And now you're choking up and you know he can hear it because his sigh is a little shaky. “I'm sorry about your gram.” You add quietly, and his voice is softer when he says,

“Thank you, sweetheart. It wasn't an easy weekend, that is certain.”

“Sorry I wasn't there to comfort you when you got back.”

“Yes well, we can't help that now, can we?” He clears his throat. “You know this is crazy though, don't you?” He asks, bringing it right back round to talking about _relationships_ . “Being separated when we are so obviously perfect for each other? It _is_ obvious to you, isnt it? Relationships like this don't happen every day, darling, and this is absolute lunacy to pretend like distance is what we need, or that we won't work out for some reason, or that love isn't possible after so short a time.”

“Summer flings are fleeting. I never assumed we would last through the winter.” You respond sadly, _truthfully_ and he laughs a little.

“Darling what we had stopped being a _fling_ after the first time.” And he's right, of course. “You should have _assumed_ from the moment I told you I was _gone on you_ that I wasn't going to suddenly stop because the seasons change.”

“I have school to finish.” You say, as if it's a valid argument and _why the hell are you trying to come up with excuses to not see him??_ “Eight more weeks.”

“I know, one more term. Then a masters degree which is no small feat, kitten, you should be very proud of yourself. Have you thought about what to do after?”

“I have a few options.” You say, thinking of the voicemail on your phone from your uncle, insisting you just _consider_ working for him, _just think_ about moving back to Boston. And you had _considered_ it until you wanted to scream, and now that you are hearing Loki's voice you want to _consider_ it all over again.

“I've branched out, in my business.” He states then, changing the subject, and you raise an eyebrow because that seems _rude,_ but you still want to talk to him so you don't comment on it.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I've discovered there's quite a bit of money to be made in being willing to travel to design for people. I am booked for a wedding in New York and they are willing to pay for me to travel and stay each time an appointment is needed.”

You are impressed, because it sounds like a blast to be able to travel and design pretty things on someone else's dime. “So you'll have a girl in every port then? What a terrible life.” You tease and he sighs again, somewhat melodramatically and it makes you smile.

“That seems rather tedious, keeping all those names straight. I'd really rather just have the one to come home, but she is making me wait outside and it's fairly annoying since it's not exactly July in Pennsylvania right now.”

“Oh, that's too bad.” You start to say, trying not to be irked that he’d bring up _another_ woman while talking to and-- _wait._ “Wait, _what_ did you say?”

“Come outside, sweetheart, I'm cold.” He says impatiently and you are scrambling off your floor and running down the stairs to yank the door to your condo open.

“Oh.” You say dumbly, because _what the fuck else_ are you supposed to say when you see him standing there in a dark grey pea coat and black slacks and a green scarf looking like a model or something equally fantastic.

“Since I am a traveling designer now, I thought perhaps, with graduation coming so quickly, you could use a new dress. And when you texted this morning that we could talk, well I just decided to pop down here and design one for you.” he says, and raises his eyebrows. “You can thank your lovely cousin for giving me your address. I'm afraid I lied and told her I needed to send you one last item you ordered.” He looks down at himself then back up at you with a hesitant little smile. “In fact, it wasn't until I showed up and called you that I realized you might not even _want_ me to be here. But I am hoping against reason that you think this is a terribly romantic idea, and not something foolish.”

“I--I--yes.” You nod quickly. “Yes I absolutely could use a new dress. And yes, what-what a great idea. I think this is the best idea I've ever heard. In fact, I've spent the last two weeks _hoping_ for an idea exactly like this. Something romantic, just like this.”

“I'd rather hoped you'd agree.” He smiles at you for real then, and your eyes fill, which makes him smile a little more before reaching out to wipe away a tear. “Silly minx, waiting two weeks to realize how badly you need a tailor in your life. And silly me, not realizing I should have flown down the moment I returned on Monday. I'm sorry for making you wait, pet.” His fingers rest on your cheek for a moment, his eyes just soft and warm and you turn your head into his palm because _you've missed him so much._

“Shall we have a fitting then?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have time now, I don't think we should wait too much longer to begin.”

You just nod, and can't stop smiling and can't stop _screaming inside_ about how amazing it is that he flew down to see you _the same day you tell him you want to talk,_ and how the _hell_ did you ever think you could live without him? But you don't say any of that, don't let on that you are basically hearing angels and seeing hearts all over, and just open the door wider so he can come in. He sheds his coat once he's up the stairs, and you _love_ his white button up because it's just like your first time together and he winks at you when he sees you staring.

“Face the mirror, if you please.” He instructs and you cross your living room to stand in front of the only full length mirror in the apartment. “Lovely.” He comes to stand behind you, and his hands coast lightly up your sides, coming to rest directly under your breasts. “You really are quite perfect, aren't you?” He kisses your shoulder gently. “But you know that, don't you?”

He squeezes you lightly and frowns playfully. “I'm afraid I'll have to take your measurements again, love, I didn't think to bring my records from my shop. Rather foolish of me, wasn't it?”

“How long will that take?” You ask, a little shaky because he is already pulling the zip of your skirt and easing it down your hips and _god_ how did you forget what his hands felt like after only two weeks?

“Hours I would imagine. To take proper measurements.” He say quietly, and starts tugging your shirt up and over your shoulder. “ _Oh.”_ He stammers a little as your shirt comes off and his fingers come up higher to just lightly, just _barely_ touch as if he's afraid you might break, but when you sigh, one hand drops back down to pull your hips tight against his and he licks his lips. “Days, then, maybe? To make sure we are thorough?”

You lay your head back on his shoulder, running your own fingers down your neck, and those dark green eyes nearly glow and your heart starts racing. “Perhaps weeks.” He amends, and you forgot how much you love to _watch him watch you._

“It _almost_ sounds like it could take months.” You add and he sighs, slow and deep, mouthing another kiss over your shoulder, nibbling at the base of your neck. “Do you have _months_ to design a dress for me?”

“ _Years_ , sweetheart. I have years.”

You close your eyes because they keep welling up and when you open again he is smiling at your reflection.

“I love you.” He says in that perfectly deep voice and it sends a bolt of heat rocketing through you. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I'm sorry you were terrified to know how I felt. I'm sorry I waited to come get you.”

“I love you too.” You manage. “I'm sorry I ran away. Sorry I didn't trust… us… enough. Sorry I made you wait. Sorry I'm not _near_ as smooth at all this as you are!” You laugh a little saying that last part and he does too.

“I love you for that.” He murmurs and trails his fingers over your stomach, and down, stopping just shy of the lace on your waist. “How entirely _you_ you have always been. Don't ever change. I love everything about you.”

You blink away tears for about the thousandth time.

“I mean that, you know.” He continues. “I love everything about you, whether you are being awkward and funny…. or lying beneath me crying my name.”

_Oh my._

This time when you look up to his reflection, those eyes are _burning_ and a blush starts spreading over your skin and his mouth lifts into that _dangerous_ smile, and he brushes his lips against your ear to ask,

“Now then, can we continue with our appointment?” You can't do anything but nod because _you aren't ever going to say no to him_.

“Perfect.” He pulls your hips harder against him, slips his fingers under the sheer bit of lace you are wearing and whispers “Please, darling. Please, could I touch you just _here?”_


End file.
